The Stork

One could say there is a stork in our midst.
Blessing those who deserve no such blessings.
Rewarding those who have squandered their time.

The stork swoops down on the front porches
of old men who sit with pipes or cigarettes.
The stork swoops through the overgrown trees
covered in the ivy that slowly chokes their sap and breath.

The stork has come a long way from its home on the coast.

It has come with the baby in its canyon beak.
The new life means nothing to some of us and everything to some of us.
It is the very essence of our new-found meaning.
Without it we would be simply sitting on our porches with pipes or cigarettes.
We still sit on our porches with pipes and cigarettes, but no longer do we feel that life on this porch is life abroad.