Roses snag bricks, hook hats.
The caretaker does not smile.
The hostess does not cook.
We, overdressed,
might layer down to Jefferson,
to Berkeley even,
jug shards of Jamestown.
Only al fresco.
Coifed boxwoods arch politely.
Bird house admits wrens only.
Tongues spin from antique tunes:
Rain lashing all DelMarVa On
Portobello Road I think
don’t you one likes one’s own things
A hiss — Samantha!
A porcelain on the lawn, holding
initiated fork, bird occupied.
Won’t shoo.
His graceless neck jerks.
Bony bill, a bit, dissecting, jabs,
His wiry toes astride
the crust wing.
Not one futilely fluttering ringed claw
can make him quit.