I find my entertainments close to home
as nothing could be more wildly hilarious
and downright curious
than my own complex teenagers
who sometimes speak
and do their math
about what adds up toward our shared
and independent
futures.

Then there are cacophonous birds
mourning doves and sparrows
blue jays and robins
yellow finches and ravens
greeting dawning light
as if some unprecedented miracle were unfolding
about which they will chatter and chirp amongst themselves
for many generations to come,
like climate marchers
just happy to be here
for this climaxing stellar event.

Then too I have neighbor watching and listening
which picks up more during afternoons,
after school buses drop off
wounded and yet still wondering kids,
with dogs and cats and even grandparents
to greet them,
while moms and dads slave away
at their own employee entertainments.

Meanwhile squirrels and chipmunks
scold and scamper
with playful industry,
or playing at industry,
who could say?

Worms are burrowing in the garden,
hopefully,
although I hate to interrupt them
solely for my frivolous fancies
regarding appropriate adult entertainment.

They often respond, upon my thunderous devastation
of enlightening presence,
as if they were having some intimate moment
that I have immodestly exposed to light.
I apologize
and move on.

The bumble bees have posted flying sentries
around my front porch,
each flying in place all day long
tiny yellow and black helicopters
engaged in serious military intelligence gathering
over my scandalously erratic comings and goings,
importations and exportations,
exhortations,
and, even worse,
often actually sitting down on their porch’s swing,
rocking back and forth,
and staring back,
just as if I were not least bit intimidated.
Merely curious
about what’s so valuable at home
up under their roof
that they find me such a suspicious alien threat.

But really,
for me,
these bumbling buzzing sentries are merely entertainment.
I especially love to watch
when they occasionally dive-bomb each other
for some inscrutable random whimsy
in which it occurs to me
their placement may be a pageant
having nothing to do with me,
other than my enjoyment
of their benign entertainments
here in this home we share.

While star gazing
and looking for the moon’s rise and fall,
wax and wane,
sailing behind and between diaphanous clouds,
stretch my focus further out at night,
this seems to suit my at home dreams
as do these raucous insects
selling nocturnal sex and happiness
as if my backyard
on down toward the river
were their red light flowing district.

It amuses me,
hearing their combined intensity of purpose,
to continue my entertainments
on through each warm month night
until its time for those gospel choiring birds
to squawk and chirp
whistle and cheep
another at home climate marching dawn.