As twilight drew near,
a chill hung in the air
as gas-hungry automobiles received
their intravenous feedings at the pumps.
While I was fueling up,
a northern mockingbird
was going through its repertoire
of borrowed notes and phrases.
I spotted the gray robin-sized songster
perched in one of the four leafless trees
dividing the highway
from the busy gas station.
It was a peculiar thing that
this feathery troubadour
was holding its own
with the melee of mechanical noises
surrounding it.
Not to be outdone by the hubbub,
the little virtuoso sang its heart out.
I looked to see
if someone else might be listening;
no one gave an ear.
The feeding frenzy continued unabated...
While my car continued to
guzzle from the nozzle,
the bird had taken flight.
In spite of the cacophony,
a noticeable silence
remained upon that barren bough.
The mockingbird evoked a feeling
that something was out of kilter.
Its songs were comprised mainly
of borrowed notes and phrases
of a metallic wilderness,
not of the old one
of leaf and wood.
The trees were planted by design
to soften the ruggedness
of the new frontier.
And this spirited avian creature
had been singing the borrowed
notes and phrases
of the new wilderness,
in a token forest, no less!
As I burped my car
to get every ounce of gas
into its belly,
I wondered what
notes and phrases
I had borrowed
from this new wilderness
and who might be listening?
It was something to ponder
as I took flight
into the darkness
with a full tank of gas.
Out of the abundance
of the heart,
the mouth speaks.
