Bloody Crows
My morning cup interrupted
I burst from the door
A demented whirling dervish
In a pink fleecy robe
Gesticulate wildly,
Hurl foul abuse
They scatter
In all directions
A black feathered diaspora
Momentarily exiled
But ever watchful
They bide their time
Never doubt their rightful return
My poor beleaguered hens
Seize the moment
Occupy the feeder
Under the protective eye
Of a garishly clad
UN Peacekeeper
The farmer offers
To shoot one
Hang the carcass on a pole
A warning to the others
Just say the word he says
Surprised, as I recoil
I retreat down the rabbit hole
Of internet advice
From BB guns
To hawk shaped kites
My head spins
Out of nowhere they come
A grandmother's words
Be gentle with nature
Take care of the wild things
Feed the birds
I stand, cup in hand
Watch, admire
My unruly visitors
Disgruntled hens and trigger-happy farmers aside
Equilibrium is restored
Agnes Warren lives in the West of Ireland. She started writing poetry in 2021 and participated in a series of workshops with Kevin Higgins, through Galway Arts Centre.
Hilary Willmott says
Enjoyed your poem, thank you.
Betty Taylor says
Love your crow poem – lively, witty, graphic.
Stan Bloxham says
Great, but the hens should be inside now ‘cos of bird flu!