Snowbirds come diving down, sliding in
pecking on windows, doors,
building nests, dropping threads,
shards of old nests hanging on their beaks,
claws. Their fluttering white feathers
blocking the sun’s puny attempts to break through,
making the streets slick with their droppings
as their baggage slides by,
bumping into place side by side by side.
Odysseus would tramp off to far west Texas,
hankering for firm enchiladas, crusty tacos,
brown eyes, and thin clear skies.
About the Author
Published by Texas Review Press