The Birds

“The birds. They are toxic!” She yells from her perch above and behind me.

My mind pines to find the faul fowl in question. My eyes catch from whence the chatter originates.

Her expression flies upon her outstretched left wing. Her desperation swopes down like talons.

“Did we not poison the air in which they soar?” I find wind beneath me thoughts. “Did we not poison the water they drink?”

Her hawk like eyes pierce at my gizzard. She frantically struts about her roost. Those eyes never leaving the clutch of her wraith.

“The birds! They are toxic!” Her raven hair flows about her. The fading light of evening paints red feathers within those locks.

“She has been yelling that all day.” The cormorant twists its head back at me. “Robin, her name is Robin.”

I preen my ears. The avian puzzle leaves me nothing to crow about.

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