Third Shift in a Row

She’s working a third twelve hour shift in a row;

her attention is as a stowaway hiding in a highly sanitized cabinet that’s plastered with tightly stretched plastic gloves.

I’m home, thinking about theories and worldwide problems that are bubbling out of control.

Irritation strikes as hunger pangs in the pit of my stomach,

and I resist the urge to eat all the food in the house, including the half-empty condiments.

Eyes are as heavy as metal blinds,

the woodpecker bird rehabilitation center rustles.

I reach for a syringe to slowly feed one of the baby woodpeckers,

it feels comforting to hold the small bird since she’s gone at work and I’d be home all night tending to these vulnerable birds.

One day, when they grow up and drink from the fountain in my front yard,

will they remember my gentle caring hands that fed them?