under the carport
the grackles cack and complain
that they’re not corvids,
can gift me nothing 
but white shit spangles on the cement.

they trill in iambs, Dad-dy Dad-dy,
who had warned me 
to cover the chink before spring
when they’d nest again
dropping malformed chicks and more crap. 

they rattle at my cat 
that springs to my lap,
kneads once,
and dashes away,