It resembled an Alfred Hitchcock convention
For birds only
But there was
No Tippi Hedron
No Rod Taylor
No Suzanne Pleshette
Nor screaming school kids
Batting away talons and beaks from their eyes.

They were in every tree
On every wire
On every pedestal
On every monument
On every sign
On every fence
And on the ground

The once green trees
Were dark with
Feathery occupants
Chirping and singing
Cawing and screeching
as they greeted
the new dawn.

This congregation of Crows,
Grackles and Starlings
Mingled en mass
Making plans
For a new day.
It made you wonder
What was their
master scheme?

Standing with
backs arched,
tails fluffed,
Our cats hissed
Their song of attack
Only to be drowned out
at the legion of
endless blackbirds.

It made me happy they were on the inside
looking out.