Whippoorwill
BY JOHN CLARKE
Dead leaf or whippoorwill? In a wood
You can never tell them apart unless, stepping
Too closely, you scare the bird up. Then you’ll
See him, an ungainly clutch of buff and brown
Lumbering off, doing what he does most poorly,
Till he turns farther on into a leaf again.
Better to pick some night when the moon’s gone
Wholly bald. Walk to the wood border. You’ll hear
So many leaves turning into whippoorwills
They’ll keep you standing there half the night.
You can never tell them apart unless, stepping
Too closely, you scare the bird up. Then you’ll
See him, an ungainly clutch of buff and brown
Lumbering off, doing what he does most poorly,
Till he turns farther on into a leaf again.
Better to pick some night when the moon’s gone
Wholly bald. Walk to the wood border. You’ll hear
So many leaves turning into whippoorwills
They’ll keep you standing there half the night.