April Fox

The birds are dropping from the sky
like mad
Not like a rainstorm or anything like that 
-we aren't being pummeled with them like hail-
but there they lie
three or four at a time, maybe five
in the yard, laid out
like someone tossed them there
planting crops
Two wings and a head,
two wings and a head
and so on
the occasional foot
No bodies
beaks all clamped shut tight
keeping secrets.

The ants swarm like men on a mountain
or on a woman, stripping them bare
eating away the substance and leaving only
structure
Neat and tidy, like they are
mannerly
devouring.

I scoop them up and place them
in my own little body farm
to visit later on and see
how far they've gone
feathers scattered, brains consumed one tiny bite at a time
Until nothing's left to take
and I'll harvest the bones.