God of the Gold and Purple finches by Jane Greer

God of the Gold and Purple finches 

by Jane Greer

Finches at all my feeders flash and bicker 

in ritual consternation and all weather, 

jangle at me with never-ending want, 

need me compliant but omnipotent. 

Within the nearby pine, push comes to shove 

as the shrill chorus nags me, makes me leave 

the cool deck and my chair and drink and book 

to fetch seed quickly, fix their rotten luck. 

The bounty I bestow with great affection 

they apprehend as wanton dereliction, 

and no amount of care will bring me love: 

their gratitude grows less the more I give. 

There's no end to their petulance and hunger. 

Their ceaseless praying always sounds like anger 

at me, all-kind, all-generous, all-seeing, 

in whom they live and move and have their being.