Mother Bird.

Eric is the kind of man that wakes up so early that it feels like midnight. He wrestles with the thin brown sheet covering his naked body and rubs the sleep from his eyes with a closed fist. A man rattling off news spills from a radio. The floor is cold when his feet touch the ground. Jackets stained with garage filth and jeans with holes ripped in the thighs and pockets lie in unorganized piles in front of his open closet door.

He looks out the window, down into the window boxes to see a mother bird flapping warmth into her wings, covering three eggs. She seems happy. The kind of happy mothers feel nourishing children. 

It never took him longer than fifteen minutes to get ready for work. Throw on an undershirt, pants, his black canvas jacket with the patches sewn onto the elbows and some boots, swallow a mouthful of day-old coffee, feed the cat and drive to work. Today, the cat slept with its paws tucked under its chest next to a full food bowl. The coffee pot was empty, except for two rings of tan scum. He couldn't find his uniform in the piles of soiled laundry. 

He walks back to the window and covered his midsection with his hands. The mother's beak scored the walls of the window box, probably starving. Rain starts coming down, banging against his roof like changing falling off a table. He thinks I'm fine right where I am, and this bird is fine right where she is. 

He remembers there's a pack of cigarettes in the silverware drawer he'd been saving, in case he decided to smoke again. He unwraps the package, and pulls out one cigarette with his index finger. His thumbnail slides against the paper, and he turns the cigarette over and dumps the brown flakes into an ashtray. They come down like the rain outside, first like a chef throwing a dash of seasoning into a mixing bowl, then in clear blankets.

The roof is leaking. Over the sink. He left a pot of broth to soak overnight, and the drops slash just loud enough to cause his head to turn.  I'm not safe from rain, not even in my own house. Eric wonders if the mother's wing will cover the eggs long after the rain stops.