Wings sorta spread out there, ugliest bird in the sky
Stands like some grotesque buzzard Gary Cooper;
High Noon on Morgan Canyon.
Black Bart, the crow, stands opposite,
His cut-away coat all shiny, blue-black,
In the noonday sun. Heat, dancing, rises.
Bart edges closer. Ugly stands his ground.
Ruffles his flight feathers, dances, hot pavement,
Stares icily, head cocked one way, another.
Now this is a face only a mother could love,
But Bart ain’t too pretty neither.
Long beaky face, yellow eyes,
All croaky when he talks, known thief
And general egg stealer. Ugly don’t say nothin’,
Bart croaks, clucks a bit, sorta slides one way, another,
Face-off across the double yellow, in midday heat,
Big Ugly and that sneaky yellow eye.
They stand, and stand, playing bird-chicken.
Nobody’s moving, not Bart, not Ugly,
And for sure not that poor dead skunk,
Belly down, white stripe up,
Laid flat, across the double-yellow,
Between Big Ugly and Black Bart,
High Noon, on Morgan Canyon.
--John-David H., Adult