The Western Kingbird

Tyrant flycatcher,
Gold from a distance,
It makes its squeaky
Territorial
Claims as it settles

In the twilit tree.
The Moon and Venus
Pass over the cliffs.
The kingbird chatters
Through one more outburst,

Then it’s just crickets,
The compressor sounds
Of ac units,
And the wings of bats
On the evening shift.

What are you doing
Out here in the world
Of things with their lives
In competition
For what makes more life?

Haven’t you had yours,
Lived your life, enough?
You squeaky tyrant,
You still shrill your call,
Let them know you’re here.