Monday the grackles descended on the square.
A subtle gloss on soigné black purred
of bronze and purple as they minced and swaggered,
helping themselves to all the choicest acorns.
Their long tails with understated fans
mocked the unkempt stubs of their city cousins,
starlings in polka-dotted rusty iron,
who tried to mingle. The sparrows and the pigeons
hung around the margins, or took off
for dingier, more secluded urban pastures.

Today, having done our square, the grackles
moved on, bound for the next port of call.
The starlings are cavorting in a fresh
mud puddle, seconded by the sparrows.
The pigeons repose cradled in the grass.
Tomorrow they'll resume their rightful place
as cocks of the walk, with first dibs on crumbs.

Esther Greenleaf Mürer lives in Philadelphia. In addition to The Externalist, she has poems published or fothcoming in Light, New Verse News, The Ghazal Page, Mimesis, and Town Creek Poetry.