Michael Estabrook, October 2013



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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