I’m not an ornithologist – I’ve friends
who study birds with telescopic glee,
but wings instead of hands won’t serve my ends,
and caged bird eyes are freaked and panicky.

I certainly appreciate their kind.
I like the hawk and hummingbird God knows,
but I don’t warm to poultry, and my mind
is boggled at this myriad of crows.

They congregate in masses on the limbs
of eucalyptus, high above my deck,
their raucous caws antithesis to hymns,
their splats of shit like peppered asphalt dreck.
As numerous as nuisance – loutish fowl –
this neighborhood could use a great horned owl.