The Senate Vows Impartial Justice by Al Ortolani - Rattle: Poetry (original) (raw)

Sheltered from the ice, a bird

has taken cover

in the Christmas wreath,

forgotten below the porchlight.

This evening I use the backdoor,

slipping across the lawn,

around the frozen forsythia,

and then down the driveway

like a skater. I don’t need

to move a muscle. Gravity

does the telling as I slide

to the mailbox.

It is shellacked with ice,

glazed in the gray dusk.

I smack the metal lid

with my fist, and a hundred webs

crack the glossy sheen.

I walk the lawn up to the house,

the weight of junk mail

in my hand. I plant each step.

Blades of grass shatter,

give way to my heel.

If I walk the front steps, the bird,

some midwestern species,

maybe a sparrow, a starling,

will fly into the cold, rather

than risk my approach.

No amount of coaxing

will keep him nested

against the siding. No promise

will keep him hidden

in pine needles. He has learned

nothing from my words,

my concern for falling mercury,

the frozen night.