BLACK COCKATOO TRIBE
Red rings for eyes,
held he
the dead chick
In his black beak.
The tribe drank from the broken concrete
Bird baths
in my back garden.
Two years I waited
After
Silent black cockatoos came two,
at fourty degrees and three.
Two winters. One summer.
Sixty seven nights, and
One dawn.
Fifty intoxicating, black and white winged chess pieces
landed
around me,
Bringing me
bird turmoil.
They
chopped off my flowers.
