A Knock At The Door

He comes and knocks on the glass door
With his beak,
His wings thrashing against it
As he calls me to come and feed him.
I smile.

As I slide the door with food in hand,
He calms down, lands on the ground,
And walks to and fro with his feathered feet.

He’s glad to be out and stretching.

He gobbles up the food I give him
So he’ll be energized
Throughout the next shift.

They’re giving it their all
And this time, for sure,
I know there’s going to be a new acquaintance
In our midst.
….
He came again;
I was not there when he knocked at the door.
But he knew where to find me.
He flew up and knocked on my bedroom window instead.

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