Anna’s hummingbird, that I’ve ceased to feed sugar.
Red-breasted sapsucker, leading me sidewalk-tree to sidewalk-tree
in a May distraction display, like killdeer do.
The nest isn’t in these stunted curb trees;
more likely the old trunk of a wetland tree
Crows swallow at something in the road,
buoyant and ready to abort mission.
Starlings, crowds of them, chatter from branches
in tinny suburban mimicry, doing car alarms, nuisance barking of
neglected backyard toy dogs, fire engine sirens.
An American mourning dove perches on barbed wire
silent in the breeze, feathers listing.
Over the hum of arterials
persists the consoling warnings
of warblers and chickadees. But it’s been months
since I’ve seen a red-tailed hawk.
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