blackbirds on the wire

there are too
many blackbirds
on the wire to
count, but i
start counting
just the
same as more
keep flying in
to perch on the
long strand of wire
that sways from
pole to pole.
large and black,
silky smooth
with pointed
yellowed beaks,
they are all
facing me,
watching me as
my lips move,
counting,
ten, eleven,
twelve. more
fly in, they all
want to be seen,
fifteen, sixteen,
seventeen,
to be taken
seriously
and be accounted
for, perhaps
even to be loved
not unlike us,
no, not at all.