bent fork tines
and broken teeth
and shards of weathered sea glass
and a pair of dice
that don' t match
and a torn Jack of Spades
and a tiny paper airplane
I folded from a gum wrapper
a twisted, gruesome baby mobile
hung delicately from a branch
made of questions
and slaps
and lost-and-found treasure
and one shiny golden dollar
such a shrine of loss
it tinkles in the wind
robins coming back from winter hiding
peck at it
I remember when they used to look for worms
but now all the early bird gets
is first pick from the garbage left the night before
and dirty snow
and tire tracks
and car exhaust choking their babies
happy spring