Fifty-Fifty

You can have the grackle whistling blackly 
     from the feeder as it tosses seed,

if I can have the red-tailed hawk perched
     imperious as an eagle on the high branch.

You can have the brown shed, the field mice
     hiding under the mower, the wasp's nest on the door,

if I can have the house of the dead oak,
     its hollowed center and feather-lined cave.

You can have the deck at midnight, the possum
     vacuuming the yard in its white prowl,

if I can have the yard of wild dreaming, pesky
     raccoons, and the roaming, occasional bear.

You can have the whole house, window to window,
     roof to soffits to hardwood floors,

if I can have the screened porch at dawn, 
     the Milky Way, any comets in our yard.



Fifty-Fifty, by Patricia Clark