Unselfish trickster,
endearing camp robber,
such good fortune to have you here at my feet,
squawking intently, urgently,
while I try to eat my lunch.
Are you warning me of danger?
Unlikely.
Gwiingwiishi,
the Anishinaabe people call you,
great teacher,
full of stories and wisdom.
I have been your apprentice in days past,
and you have taught me well, my friend.
Lesson One: Misdirection.
While you squawk for my attention,
I don’t even need to look anymore to know
there are three of your brothers
sneaking up behind me,
intent on exploring my pack
for some tasty morsels.
Oh, they may find something in there to delight their tastebuds;
I wouldn’t want your theatrics to go unrewarded.
And while they relieve me of my edible supplies,
I will continue to enjoy my sandwich,
while being spellbound
by your entertaining stories,
and your wise counsel.
