On a drive through Oklahoma and Kansas
when evening dusk approaches
bugs begin slamming into the car
the sides, the windshield, the windows, the roof
like rocks or like glue-balloons that burst on impact
Then smallish, dark birds appear
next to the highway, above the highway, in the grasses
swipping, swooping, swishing around at great speeds
narrowly missing the car, forcing us to flinch each time
The birds are just bug hunting
The bugs are just out for an evening fly
The car is just in the way
TR
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