I guess they've adapted
to our debris

the wedge of geese
flying north

over south bound traffic
the hawks perched

on top of
parking lot poles

and the great blue heron
paddling air

with enormous wings
shadowing hissing lawns

and lifeless pools
but what about us

hands clenched
on wheels

weary eyes scanning
mirrors and windshields

wingless and waiting
for red to turn green


Tom Spencer © 2018