I haven’t heard a bird in months
and I wonder if I’m going crazy or
all this really is a simulation or
World War III already started
like my slumming source of news says
or if this is just the desert way, things
busy eating other things, napping with
their exorcist heads backwards, hunting
shade or water beyond human footfalls
I heard a screech at dawn last week
that sounded like a murder in the live oak
trees, or maybe mating – grackles? feral
cats? elephant tranquilizer OD?
finally on a walk I spot a hummingbird,
slim beak deep in the neighbor’s red
lantana, her body greenly iridescent, all
suburban Vegas flash, a fish with wings
*
Sherry Abaldo currently lives with her husband in Las Vegas. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, ONE ART, Rattle, The Eunoia Review, and many other outlets. Her poems are forthcoming in Sequestrum and The Mackinaw. More at www.sherryabaldo.com.
