​Bird Strike


Talking heads yammer about
another theft, another beating,
gray static monotone, ubiquitous.
And so I escape outside to green 
and blue, but trailing me 
like a child’s tethered balloon
is last tease of evening news— 
Deadly Bird Strike!

There they are: blackbirds 
in fitted business suits 
forming picket lines on 
telephone wires, miniature signs
tucked beneath wings to protest
how few humans still gawk 
at graceful ways they soar

through sky, intricate 
construction of nests, myriad 
hues of plumage. Too busy 
punching keypads, earbuds 
drowning birdsong. Insolence 
hugs us like brand-name jeans
as we update Twitter feeds.

Atop a mailbox, a fat crow 
watches with flat, hateful eyes. 
I’m doing my part, I yell. 
Too little, too late. Rasping 
a cough, he flaps away 
to rejoin his murder 
and plot their next move.





False Prophets


According to Doc Brown, we should already 
be running errands in flying cars powered 
by banana peels and aluminum cans. 

Children should be circling town squares 
on hoverboards and weather forecasts 
should actually be getting things right.

Where is Robocop and Judge Dredd? 
Why aren’t Bill and Ted’s Wyld Stallyns 
dominating iTunes? Snake Plissken

should have escaped both New York
and LA by now. I’d expected
San Angeles to rise from rubble 

of the great quake of 2010 while
Demolition Man’s cryogenic sleep 
filled with dreams of what might come. 

But everyone lies. A producer’s guarantee 
means nothing until the returns are tallied.
This is the real world, Neo.

If prophecies came true, Armageddon 
would already be here and Terminators 
would be walking the Earth.





Things I Found on the Side of the Road


Loose change, mostly pennies. ID cards. CDs. 
Flattened socks and weather-beaten shoes, 

always singles, lonely for another foot.
Crushed beer cans and battered cell phones.

Wreckage from cars and trucks. 
Broken glass. Silver strips of trim. 

Black swaths of rubber, angry slashes 
across white stripes ending at crumpled

guard rails or shattered signposts.
Roadside memorialsfar too many

crosses made from planks or twigs bound
with twine. Photos of lost boys and girls. 

Scrap paper eulogies held down by rocks.
Graffiti sprayed on building walls.

Speed limit signs with bullet holes. Scent 
of honeysuckle, mountain laurel, daffodil. 

Petals from pear and cherry blossoms strewn 
like confetti after a holiday parade. Pollen.

Pinecones. Dandelion fluff. And pressed into 
sodden shoulders, my footprints, disappearing.