THE MATING CALL OF THE BLACK URRACA IN COVID DAYS

The wringing of hands and

Gnashing of teeth

As a mass of grackles flies by

And bewildered looks of despair,

Turning then to loss...

And then, to despair again

And, yeah, like the ancient ones

We went down to the resaca, 

Under the Montezuma cypresses
And black willows...

And wept

As others before us cried

When the poisonous winds blew

Another death, swarming and alive,

To take yours to live

The drawn out gnashing of teeth
Ground finely with a low wail in the torrid heat
Of the parking lot, where in a grass median
Beneath a mesquite
He grieved
For his fading mate in an upstairs
Hospital room, growing dark

The drawn-out, cackleous dirge,
Like the low, raspy, screeching call of the black urraca

Resplendent in his steel blue plumage
Aglint in the sun

Ominous in his courtship, 

splendidly fanning a wing behind him 

as he curtsies, and turns...

To loss, and then

To despair again