John Grey

On a Bird Watch

I hear the knocking of woodpeckers
on nearby trees
but see none.

And, from the brush,
comes a chorus of
‘hurry tweoo toowee three-eight’
but no sign of
a yellow-throated vireo.

But, in a branch high above,
a silky black crow
caws as loud
as a trumpeting elephant.

I see it right enough.
And its message is clear.
It doesn’t wish to hear me.
It doesn’t wish to see me.

When it comes to bird-watching,
there is no avian equivalent.