Blue Jay Is King Poem by W.I. Stoneberger

Blue Jay is king
of the turf,
ruler of the roost.
He's a cocky kid
with a warcry -
raspy,
close to obscene.
Even the squirrels
leave him alone.
He descends
on the birdbath.
Mourning doves
and robins
scatter
in a frightened flurry
of feathers,
all talk - no action.
Blue Jay squawks and screams.
He is king.
He knows it.
In the mornings
I hear him,
hanging out
in the window tree,
bragging about
recent conquests,
twitching for a fight.
There are no takers
among the bystanders
perched on the telephone lines,
clustered in the shrubs.
They know better
than to even try.
Blue Jay is king.
He squawks. He preens.
He knows it.