BRUCE WEIGL

Pastoral as Complaint

           The robin is so quarrelsome. He barks to no one in the trees;
he fluffs his body twice its size and rattles in the leaves.
           He doesn’t know or won’t accept the nest is empty now,
the eggs a tatter on the ground. The storm was quick,
           we didn’t see it come; no sound above the hum

a summer morning makes when god is in his place
           and we are free of tragedies that pile up along the way. 
The robin is so quarrelsome;
           he thinks his life is gone just like the nest,
but he’s like the rest of us, it’s only just begun.  

   Contributor’s notes   
   For Penelope
   Response to, “Why Don’t You Write about Something Happy?”