Mobbing

The hawks and crows

are at war again, sure,

all winter those crows

cackled, raising hawks’ hackles,

hawks perched so solemnly

on barren branches hung with ice,

then finally shrugging off the crows to fly free.

But now it’s spring,

and those neighbors can’t bear

the sight of each other nor share

their skies:

reeling and squealing,

squawking and screaming,

sailing over wide water,

skimming brooks and streams,

clipping close to treetops,

diving for cover.

The winter dress rehearsal

is now the real deal,

no hawks will prey

on crow young today.