A blue jay lives on Garland Street,
I’ve see him on my walks
I’ve read he is a rough fowl but
never heard him squawk
and drive away the lesser birds
that gather gray and brown
ignorant of the pecking order
in his cul-de-sac of a town.
Since I’ve seen him certainly twice
in the branches of the oak
I’ll call him resident, give him rights
greater than those wee ones he pokes.
He can harry, he can boast, run them
to the ground, and they can flutter
in regions upper,
when his blue is not around.
For thirteen years, John Zedolik taught English and Latin in a private all-girls school, and in 2010 completed his Ph.D., in which he focused on the pragmatic comedy of the Canterbury Tales. Currently, he is an adjunct instructor at Chatham University in Pittsburgh. However, he has had many jobs in his life including archaeological field assistant, obituary writer, and television-screen-factory worker. His iPhone is now his primary poetry notebook, and he hopes his negotiation with technology in regard to this ancient art form continues to be successful.