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Poem

She looks through the lens,
a Baltimore Oriole
had just flared into orange sherbet,
but now there was her wide-eyed grin
filling every space left over.

Once as a young man, I dated
a sweet girl. 
I called her my ‘yellow ducky’
but even her comical loveliness
had only filled my arms and private parts,
but my head remained stuffed full
of a teenage kapok.

Watching golden eagles,
my long lens growing heavy
as I scan the sky for the false gold
in their plumage.
We used to call females ‘chic’s.’
As a kid, I had to wear
huge, round, corrective glasses
I was known as ‘owl’ boy.

The Baltimore Oriel is back,
it alights on a branch just above you,
blooming again in a frizzle of colors;
you are unaware and keep smiling 
into the camera.
My head is a fizz of euphoria.
I bless Baltimore, for being
that golden city in the clouds
that I always thought it was.

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