by Claire Curry
Banding Angry Birds
Color-banded titmice,
With vengeance on their minds,
Are coming out to get me;
I’ve wronged against their kind.
They don’t like to be caught
Or have blood samples taken.
So I’d best now sleep lightly
Or I might never waken.
But Still
I hate the morning hour
After dawn.
They've stopped singing.
Perhaps yesterday was a dream;
There are no birds here.
Or they left or won't sing 'til next year.
Or died.
(Something was hungry.)
Never again my birds.
Silly worries, but still.
You never know.
Oh wait, there's one.
But still. It could happen tomorrow.
