Monday, April 2, 2018
NaPoWriMo Day 2: Snow Bird
This poem was originally in third person plural, but I changed it to second. It makes the meaning of the poem change slightly and makes it more personal.
You travel south for the winter,
your wrinkled hands steer your RV.
You park in the grand lot of Arizona
where you nest, squawk, sip margaritas,
lay out your creaking joints, and sleep.
One night in the RV park, you watch
a woman and her two boys fight the police,
drop their back packs and belongings;
rounded up like livestock and cuffed.
Their things sit in the dust until you
get up and throw all of it in the trash.
The next day you wake up slow,
stretch, make breakfast, strong coffee,
rustle your wisps of gray hair,
perch in the sun, and watch like a crow;
your beak bitter and sharp.