Git whatcha git

This quiet house, full of wrong smells
And worthless knick knacks
Also a bountiful refuge
Just ask the peahen
As her two wee chicks
Scurry under her moving ground hunt.
Earlier as I went to exit out back
Glass slider wide open there's
A bird splayed out two feet away
He gets up, slowly iridescent
I look at his razor spur, blue neck
Up in the garden I pick
Zucchini snap peas cilantro blueberries
And water off the fireworks loud grime
America