take care of my bird

i see her
in the morning
with that look,
my wife of ten
years,
and the day
hasn't even
started. she's
biting her
nails, putting
too much sugar
into her cup
of coffee. she
doesn't even
stir or add
cream. the news
paper is in front
of her on
the kitchen
table. i ask
her what's up
with that oil
spill, pointing
at the paper
and she's says, what.
oh yeah, right. i
heard something
about that. but
listen, she says.
she puts her hand
on the suitcase
that sits next to
her rolled up
yoga mat, and
blow dryer.
i'm going away
for a few weeks,
i met someone
and want to see
how it might go.
can you feed my bird
while i'm gone.
i study her for
a minute, then pour
myself a cup
of coffee.
i'll think about
it, i say. i'll
think about it.
but i really don't
know much about
birds. i can't
make any promises.