Another Story of No Character

A couple of house finches
Had renovated the nest
They had used successfully

The prior summer. It sat
On the top of an upturned,
Long-disused rowing machine

With a protective cover
Against the weather, which sagged
Open for a fine shelter,

Propped in shade under house eaves.
It was precarious but
Only if you knew someone

Who lived in the house might come
Outside some day and decide
To cart off that old rower.

Quite unaware of this risk,
The pink-headed male started
Singing trillingly in March,

And by the end of the month
The beige female had joined him.
The spot was still a good spot.

The machine remained, unmoved.
So the courtyard filled with song,
Eggs were laid, and life went on.