Lunchtime Angst
As usual the robin greets me,
as I sit on the graveyard bench.
He bobs his head as I throw crumbs,
from a sandwich that contains a distant brother of his.
I watch him fly to his retreat in a tree,
whose roots probe the bones of my ancestors.
But he'll soon be back on his perch,
a headstone the marks the last resting place of uncle William.
He looks at me briefly with his beady eye,
but I rebuff the accusation, "I've paid my bill birdy!"