Supposed to be here

Supposed to be here

Native bird patrolling my front yard,

Our town steward -

Nonchalantly there,

without any care

Holding steadfast to this ground,

Once covered in a great big mound

Congenial turkey;

Quintessential Berkeley

Today without your fleet

Directing traffic in the street,

Stopping cars with your spurred feet

On your Sunday beat

If we have to go to Mars,

we’ll need you there for stopping wars;

To teach us how to care,

open arms and wings to share

How do you let little things go by?

Neck stretched way up high

Nerf bullets blast into sky

Unperturbed by little boys

Urban dissonance and its toys

Conflicting hopes,

insensitive joys

Bird in a cage,

our sage,

in an age,

so full of rage

Help us heal,

And, be still

So we can then,

begin to feel.