On my street, not a thing happens
uncaptured in birds’ eyes.
Hawks sit on streetlamps or corners —
swivel-cowled remote spies.

And the crows lurk by the murder,
swooping to the sidewalk.
Pigeons strut and flap-glide down low —
masters of the sly gawk.

Add myriad flitters and sitters —
high-speed reconnaissance
and those who seem occupied by
a playful mating dance.

They’re squatters, stalkers, and spotters —
but who watches the watchers?