THE BIRDS

I. Tether

I saw it fast, the small thing
wounded, and smaller
for seeming so willingly
breakable and displaced,
the handful of feathers being
lifted off the train's platform,
then falling back, as if the bird
were trying to fly against
an invisible string playing
with it, pulling it down

to the tiles. Sprawled
on the steps, leaning on elbows,
the boy watched (and could
watch) the bird struggle, his
face-unmoved-unmovable,
or so I thought, until I saw
what he saw, not one bird
but two, and the unguarded
white where the claws curled-
opened against.

II. The Birds

Then for each length of wire stretched between two poles,
one dark bird, and Missouri falling back behind them,
while the sun-another harbinger-fell, too, collecting
in the runoff pools, its orange light skimmed, my eye

snagging against surfaces.

In the Hitchcock, what you don't see are the thin strings
of nylon looped around the legs, so the birds couldn't fly
away, but formed the odd, live kites tethered to the actress.
When she moved, they moved. So even if she were innocent,
they'd still come.