Hello, Old Friend

Hello, Old Friend

I was eight in sixty-nine,
A cub scout trip to the reservation,
  All those taxidermy animals in the Nature Museum

The Park Director, a John Denver nature man
Called ‘Safronas,’ (whom we all called ‘Sassafras’)
  Had a wide brimmed ‘Smokey the Bear’ hat 

He told us it was magic, and it was, ‘cause
“If you wear it, put seed on the brim, and sit out quietly there on the rock,
  Birds won’t be scared away no’more”

To prove it, he picked me out of the troop,
(I was raising my hand to ask a question when I ‘volunteered’)
  He sat me on the rock, under the hat

While all the scout kids watched gawk faced, back inside,
I saw them mouthing “Sush!” and “Shut up!” though I couldn’t hear,
  Behind the glass door, in the museum window

Sure enough, nuthatchers, wood peckers, pine sickens,
A whole page of the North American Field Guide swirled over me,
  Landed, pecking seeds off a my head

‘til one shit on my sleeve and I freaked

Thirty five years on, off from work, back in town,
Taking care of my Dad for the week, days open
  While he’s in day care at the Alzheimer’s place 

And I’m back again, the reservation, the museum
Closed, dark, same old stuffed glass eyed critters lookin’ back,
  No sprig of Sassafras, too quiet

I’m used to being here with family, scouts, school groups,
All those no-bodies now more present by their absence,
   Made the day much colder, gray

I sat again upon that rock, lonely, by myself,
When soon I’d acquired a gray-flutter halo,
  Scratching at my scalp, I wasn’t wearing a hat

Holding out my hand,
A squeaky chickadee let on my thumb,
  “Hello, old friend,”

And regretful, I saw I’d done wrong,
The little bird was riled indeed,
  “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten seed”