He Who Watches

A branch hangs low pulled lower by a decorated box 

Inlaid with blue and red faded by the elements the box hangs 

It floats strung up with ever so thin twine 

A wooden bird stays standing up stapled to the front 

The sun drains the color out and the bird remains a rotten wood color

It stays completely still in the June air

Waiting for a gust of wind to push it to the right or bash it again the stubby tree it hangs from

Its pentagon shape holds residence for incoming birds 

It sees all newcomers to the house it faces

Perfectly still it watches

Watches the dad leave after the fight

Watches the daughter cry on the porch

Watches the dog run away

Watches the cats escape 

It sees the bears crawl and the squirrels climb 

It watches the boyfriends come and go

It watches the wife water the garden

It watches everything, 

Perfectly still.