Eyrie Avenue

 

After the chicks had flown the nest

she sat in stony silence –

rocking back and forth in an upright chair.

The hair on her head pulled tight into a cowl

that accentuated her horny skull.

A sharp, beak nose and dull, see all eyes

that fluttered from pillar to post –

 

Until –

The ball came over the wall –

Then –

 

Fingers curled into claws

she perched forward

against the window sill,

her brittle, twiggy limbs

a rage of twisted sinew –

 

“Get the little worm!”

 

- she swooped

from her second storey vantage point,

aged limbs cracking and popping

like fried chicken carcass

as they propelled her

down the stairs and out the door.

 

The wide eyed innocent

stooped to collect his ball.

Golden hair tussled in the breeze.

 

She clutched him

in a tangled, dry embrace

that smelled of cinnamon.

As a squawk escaped her lips

and made all the curtains twitch

in Eyrie Avenue.