No real need for scarecrows around here:
most of the grain-inclined birds are killed
and the few left don’t scare easily
or have seen it all or more. Still,
some newer farmers give it a go: jackets
flapping in the breeze, troubled grins, eyes
that see far beyond their fate; but more aesthetics
than end results. And some old-timers
rustle up wooden crosses and coat hangers
in their fields, distressed figures
troubled by colourful parrots
nibbling at their responsibilities.
But few, very few. Shotguns in the pantry.