House of birds

by Bridget Khursheed

Red mite minutes poised by the bantam shed
unnoticed

too close and they touch you
like a feather’s claw

feathers are bad they make me cough
no breath and bed

but the eggs and their promise
are too much to resist

the hen straw another enemy to poke
itching embers raising blisters

pushed aside to find absent
reasons to be happy.