Ominous birds

Ominous birds

A flock of ominous black birds,
pecks, and rummages on our ancient hearths.
Pecks, pecks.
An ominous feast in our ruined house.
In the rhythm, first slowly, then increasing.
It drowns out the sounds of the morning.
Their beaks turn yellow like the teeth of beggars who stand in front
of the church every Sunday, with an outstretched hand while they
wait for mercy.
If you let them stay, you think they will go away, and they are
persistent.
They pretend to be warm‐hearted.
And they don't care about the fuss that is being made about them.
Ominous black birds flee off from our ancient hearths.
Damn, you and every grain you pecked.