Tactical Manoeuvres On Fairington Poem by Deborah E Cox

Not Red-wings or Cardinals, but
Blackbirds, squadron ranks
of quick-flitting, V formation
target the blue mirror reflecting
skyward our pristine backyard

newly-uncovered pool awash now
with careless detritus after
this morning’s early guerilla raid
announced with squawks and krawls
straight line from neighbour’s walnut
to yellow-sided pool shed - thach weave
in symmetry, line of grey shrapnel, a steely
reminder of their sudden coup

a push broom, soapy bucket water
battle wound report - diminutive
respect for the clean up crew
left behind, and the house built
in the path that the crow flies.