For the Birds
I sway
my way into footfalls
between skyscrapers
as the wind
slingshots the cap
off of my head.
Circling seagull and descending crow,
the whispering wind advisory
warns of sheltering in place
on top of the bare circle that I've come to bear
where frazzled hair lines
radiate outward from, my baldness
does not a nest make.
Lulled pigeon, aim elsewhere for goodness sake.
Copyright © Barthwell Farmer | Year Posted 2025
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