Rye Seed by PW Covington

For the 2nd day in a row
I find myself incredibly mentally altered
Not disturbed
Before noon
I know this because
At some point I recognize the Native American
Call in talk show
On the public radio, inside
And that show ends at noon, on weekdays

If the worst thing they can say
About me, when this is over,
Is that I spent most of it
Sitting stoned alone
In my garden
Feeding mountain finches
Rye seed from my faded red feeder

Then,
That’s exactly what they can say…

   PW Covington writes in the Beat tradition of the North American highway. He's riding things out, in a hidden adobe, somewhere just off Historic Route 66, in Northern New Mexico. Follow him on Insta @BeatPW.