Pica Pica – Magpie
That glossy tuxedo, dressed-to-kill, though he never does the deed. Why does he even stay?
Prefers the harsh blades of winter over a flight to Mexico. White and black – flash of indigo. He swoops from branch to post.
Soon after sun-up the patrols begin. Quick mind, sharp eyes and ears. But his nose is his compass; leads him over the frozen land.
Sentinel of the dead. He’s the first to raise the alarm. Keen nose picks up the reek of a life no more.
Ak-ak, ak-ak-ak! Notice to the clan to join him for a feast.
Bold recycler of the plains – he has no fear. Won’t be like coyote and wait till dark. The clan descends, fighting and squawking. They all eat their fill and leave with fetching feathers still chic and polished.
Jan Walker ©2013