Invasion And Birds Poem by Hans Ostrom

On that particular day, USA was invading
a country again. I didn’t know anything
to think that would change USA. Maybe
I was wrong to observe birds. When
the nation claiming you invades another
nation, all actions, including a glance
at birds, seem either right or wrong but
never neutral. A constellation of starlings
took off from a muddy field. Totality
of beating wings made a single, heavy
sound. One robin was left in the field—
a bird dressed like an old professor:
orange sweater-vest, gray jacket. On
a walkway, two juncos flitted,
plump gray nodes of energy. Observing
birds, I knew for sure USA had taken
a wrong turn. I felt myself to be
sad and politically useless
like a weary angle of lost geese,
jet engines coming their way.