This poem was published in The Avenue Journal, Issue X: Dogs
One Morning In May
by Ed Vojik
All through spring around my home,
I heard emanating from the cedars
out front and the maples out back,
the shrill cacophony of blue jays.
One morning in May, out back
with Maizie, my yellow Labrador,
a fledgling jay hopped along on the grass,
testing its wings, readying for flight.
Maizie instantly scooped the jay
into her soft retriever’s mouth,
prancing, circling the yard, her
snout pointed high, as if an athlete
proudly upholding a trophy for all
her cheering fans to admire.
Then, just as suddenly, Maizie
dropped the bird at my feet, an offering.
Unscathed, the jay rolled over, its eyes
focused on me, not a look of surrender,
but one I had seen before, long ago,
a mixture of pleading, terror, contempt,
a look I got in seventh grade from lanky
mild mannered Paul Hill, when I abetted
in tormenting this innocent boy
by punching his face for no reason
other than to impress the class bully.
That look, that look . . .
I swear I never again took part
in such a wretched act.
With a trembling hand, I tightly
gripped Maizie’s collar
until the jay righted itself
and safely skittered away.
Ed Vojik is a retired CPA who hails from Towson, Maryland. He
writes fiction and poetry based on his experiences living in and around
Baltimore.
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