Colorblind

---

I get off the bus each day and walk home,
past the back of the supermarket
where some kind soul has laid seed beneath the trees
to feed the birds.

They cluster there, pecking at the ground contentedly;
mottled brown sparrows and glistening black grackles,
the dainty mockingbirds which wake me with their “eh-eh!” cry each morning.
All together, they eat, until I walk near.

Then, as a great flock, they startle up,
and today, within the commotion, I catch a quick view:
a flash of blue wing among the duller colors.
A sky-bright bluejay, eating with the rest.

What called you here, friend bluejay, and where is your mate?
Why do you eat alone among strangers?
Or perhaps, are they not strange to you at all, but fellow birds,
your friends, regardless of their hue?

If only men would flock as one,
welcoming to table those lost bluebirds in their midst,
and begging them to sit and eat,
regardless of appearance.

Ah, little bird of such a flock!
I envy you.
What a blessing it must be sometimes,
to be colorblind.