For ears that hear

My buggy to places far away
is nothing more than ears that hear
the rat-a-tat-tat like a gentle snore
of a woodpecker that moved in right next door
each morning he chooses a tree ever closer
to the wide-open window above my dresser.

Over the metronome tick of the clocks
cupboards slam above my head
in counterpoint to the fire alarm beep
warning of bacon left far too long
the creamer slides with a gentle splash 
of spoon chimes and dings on the side of the mug.

Next door ricochets the giggles and shrieks
of a gaggle of geese kept penned inside
while past the shelter of too-small decks
robins sing of spring delights
the aging beagle peeks through deck rails
beats the air with his helicopter tail.

Old toad croaks below the moon high above
while the evening breeze rattles the shades
my ears so free they long to hear
the song of the stars before they fade
into the beat of the wings of a gnat
and the chirping call of a hunting cat.

Today’s poem brought to you by the NaHaiWriMo prompt of “cart or buggy” and the NaPoWriMo prompt to create a “walking archive” from inside one’s home.

Let me know what you think!

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