What we call a murder
sweeps the skies around the water tower,
ragged black shapes that fill
the spring air with sharp-edged sounds.
Some say it’s a funeral: somewhere below
a feathered form lies still, broken
by a speeding car, left to die.
Killed by flu or suspicion.
Shot to death for just being a bird.
Books Available
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
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Knocking from Inside
Sunday, April 04, 2021
Fear
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2 comments:
There's such a menacing quality to your description of these birds!
(And yet they are the ones being menaced. So as I reread it I see the menace is entirely elsewhere.)
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