The Indian Minor Poem by Gert Strydom

It landed on the wall
that divided the front yard
from the back
where my yellow BMW
was sheltered under a roof

It was dark brown with a yellow bill
and sharp small black intelligent eyes
watching everything
much like a crow or raven.

Every now and then
it darted down
to land next to the bowl
with the dog’s pellets
pecking them up
as another bird would seed.

The dog would eat every now and then
and sometimes guard its bowl
lying there defying that bird,
but when ever it would go
that bird would
have its feast,

till one day
that I took that bowl away
into the dogs pen
and then that bird
sat screaming on that wall
as if I had stolen
his dearest possessions
from him
as if there was nothing else to steal.