I met this family working on a farm.
With anger all over their faces,
Heat too high between them,
Not the regular warm.
I stopped by and waved a hi,
The mother in the middle,
And the children on the sides,
looked up with a why.
I felt awkward,
And decided to move on,
But then I couldn't so I asked.
"What's going on?"
They frowned upon my stop,
But then the daughter opened up.
"We work hard all year,
but the birds, they eat all our crop"
I then asked.
"Your brother there he looks a bit different"
The sister whispered
"Don't tell him, he's adopted"
I was silent, I had no words,
for this family of pot-heads and buckets
I left them to what they do best,
Being angry and scaring birds.
- Scarecrows on Divar Island, Goa.