Michael Estabrook, October 2013

SIX BIRDS

 

two crows

 

at the side of the road pecking

at something dead, bits

of stringy gray flesh in the tips of

their yellowed beaks: pecking, pecking,

heads jabbing down striking, glass-eyes

glistening in the sun

 

an eagle

 

in the forest, large and brown, drops

seemingly from nowhere into nothing as

we walk beneath the trees

 

two geese

 

the river slides before me, tiny smooth

ripples, noiseless against the reeds

and broken tree branches and thick thick

black roots like tired snakes, still winter

so no turtles or fish break the surface,

only two geese standing stiff as statues,

eyeing me and the quiet river too

 

an egret

 

stands in the shallows of a pond, poised,

elegant, focused, his long beak snapping

suddenly like a whip into the water,

stabbing at a plump, brown tadpole,

but misses, his beady eyes stare

into the dark water, incredulous, and,

if I didn’t know better, a little

embarrassed about it too

 

 

Michael Estabrook:  After 40 years of working for “The Man” and sometimes “The Woman” Michael Estabrook is finally free. No more useless meetings under florescent lights in stuffy windowless rooms. He can concentrate instead on making better poems and on pursuing his other interests including: history, art, music, theatre, opera, and his wife who is still the most beautiful woman he has ever known.

 

Promote. Poetry.
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