Three mornings in a row,
two nervy crows shock us
out of bed. A felony
when business trips demand
we play at catch-up sex
and snooze long after daylight slits
through fir and spruce.
You arm yourself with plastic bowls
and storm the yard with no desire
to forge a truce. Quiet! wakes
the neighborhood and Tupperware dings
the gutter tin, tagging two obnoxious wings
that can’t conceive a woman
in a flowered gown with fire
in her deep brown eyes
could strike so quick.
I knee the bed and snap the shade.
Formidable, I think.
Yes! That’s your word.
And as I search alternatives –
daunting, fearsome, tough,
impressive, mighty, difficult –
it’s fact: No annoying thing
in this sleepy universe
stands a chance.
Before these words can draft
a poem, your final salvo smacks the roof:
Note this address. Don’t come again!
Pulling down the shade, I wait for trees
to stop their shuddering.
Featured image credit to author.