TWELVE STEP PROGRAM

  

One hundred Cedar Waxwings

Devouring winterberries

Beside the sewage treatment plant,

So hearty and so merry!

 

In choirs they perch, just singing

Their constant, high pitched tune,

Their pointed crests expressing

All phases of the moon.

 

Contentedly they roost where

For me is bitter cold,

Allowing me to sidle close

While peering from below.

 

I’ve known them to pass berries

Branch downward, taking turns

At gulping the fermented fruit—

So much they never learn!

 

For choked on the choke cherries,

Or other fruit they’ve found,

They teeter-totter drunkenly

And tumble to the ground—

 

Unless one thinks to proffer

Ones haberdashery,

To catch the greedy little sots

Before they hit the street.

 

Without a Twelve Step Program,

They live “one day at a time.”

Their lack of moderation, though,

Should bring our own to mind.