All along the fringes
of the roadside, they gather,
twittery as ballroom dancers,
to do the redwing foxtrot,
the blackbird cha-cha.
Or they stud the pasture
fences with glossy haute
couture, and look
with classic bird hauteur
at the jit-
ter
bug-
ging
magpies
in the filaree. Listen!
the field’s their church—
that’s why they mambo
in the morning sun.
Susan Kelly-DeWitt | Beginning Again Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)