Too Cute For Yoo Poem by robert dickerson

The morning was warming,
the sky was blue
behind the bucking, everywhere black branches.
From nowhere a blackbird
sailed to a bough which now turned blue-
purple in the sparkling sunlight

and began combing herself
with a sharp, yellow beak
while the traffic purled in the Avenue,
watching the sky, clearly content
until joined (too closely) by another.
'Hey, yoo, get off my twig! '
she cackled to her fellow grackle.
'Friendly fire', you might say?
adding something saucy about the 'neighborhood'.

Promptly, in a medley of bills and quills
ire took fire in the chilly chill:
rainbows ran and gutters unfroze,
children huddled mutely. Basketballs refused the hoop.
The affair had the air of a domestic dispute
gone hideously public.

In the end both decamped.
All was as before
Nature permitting battles
but never wars.