Yes, he protects us well, his red
and yellow shoulders flashing as
he flies. And when he perches, flares
his wings–the epaulets go wide,
his long, sharp beak thrust like a sword,
his cry is menacing, a shriek.

We see him at the very peak
of tree, or tip of cattail, lord
of meadow, marsh, his own wetland
small harem. We each build a nest
and raise, mostly, his chicks. The rest
have genes from yet another bird

because the male from the next field
can fly by, flash, and we will yield.

-Steve Shoemaker, April 17, 2014