RWP NaPoWriMo #9

Here are the requirements set for this RWP poem prompt.

Making Do

Snow-birds flap
wings at winter chill,
their internal torch burning
as I bring a pail of leavings
to the pig pen.

The birds do not jug
or twit, or in any way
massage the situation.
It is damn cold
and they need food.

They pick through the slop
for seeds, then startle,
scatter when the sows
jam their snouts
into the mix.

Settled again, they wait,
stalking the hard crust
of the sty’s frozen ooze
punctuated
with an occasional
fresh, hot pile.

After the pigs finish
stowing their fill,
the black feathered flock
return from the fringe.

Though they squawk
and flutter
they are tokens of life
while I wait
for spring’s
green leaved chatter.

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5 thoughts on “RWP NaPoWriMo #9

  1. Impressive. This was such a difficult prompt for me. Love the imagery, the sounds, the whole mood of the poem. Great!

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