In my Last Life my Parrot was my Time Keeper

Karma
was my metronome,
poor beak.

Her pecking
in time to the piano
kept my rhythm secure.

She had to work
for her breakfast
but that bird kept wandering off.
 
Ten minutes of molto vivace
in exchange
for a bowl of chilies and pawpaw.

Occasionally
she fluttered off
(my insecure syncopation scared her)

and crapped on the curtains.
I had to cajole her back
with a bowl of peanuts

and a promise of steadier days.