Musings by The Poet Loriet
Living At The "Y"
Mama bird
was a real wing-dinger,
passing up fertile, leafy
aviary settings,
green and serene--
for the hustle and bustle
of city life.
The fast cars
racing by
on highways and bi-ways
filled her birdie heart
with flitter-flutters.
She longed for her babies
to know
multiculturalism--
so she feathered her nest egg
in the Denny's
"Y"
Baby birds peer out,
beady-eyed, inquisitive
as laughing people
stream in and out
the swinging glass doors--
pausing
momentarily
to gaze in wonder
at new life flourishing
within the plastic bosom
somewhere near
the tail end
of alphabetica.
Lori Beal
was a real wing-dinger,
passing up fertile, leafy
aviary settings,
green and serene--
for the hustle and bustle
of city life.
The fast cars
racing by
on highways and bi-ways
filled her birdie heart
with flitter-flutters.
She longed for her babies
to know
multiculturalism--
so she feathered her nest egg
in the Denny's
"Y"
Baby birds peer out,
beady-eyed, inquisitive
as laughing people
stream in and out
the swinging glass doors--
pausing
momentarily
to gaze in wonder
at new life flourishing
within the plastic bosom
somewhere near
the tail end
of alphabetica.
Lori Beal
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Living At The `Y`
Living At The `Y`