Bluejay and I

The bluejay perches on the
ear of corn stuck on a post,
he’s blue, white, black with a
topknot sticking up as if he
hadn’t combed his hair. He’s harsh
at his singing but now he works
his beak against the corn until
he digs out a kernel, flies
to the oak tree, holds the grain
between his toes and hammers it
to pieces and eats it.
It’s the hard way, all right, but
so do I work hard for my bread.
He takes corn earth gave me
as if he owned it, and so do I.
He fattens his guts on my labor
and I do too.