After Agnes Krampe
Upon a lone palm,
they build their communal
nest —determinedly— but pause
to study the berry-hued
cinder blocks of the hillside
shanty town, short lives
stacked on short lives.
One bird watches
the woman plucking laundry
from a fraying washline
as if shirts were passion fruit
on a vine, as if the vibrant reds
could placate hunger.
Another bird eyes
several...
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