unscared

the scarecrow
full of birds,
stretched out along
the post,
dug in the middle
of the field
is tired.
sagging in his
ragged clothes.
not lifting a straw
finger
to keep
the seeds in the plowed
ground.
he fools no one,
with his silent gaze,
his stitched
eyes,
the bent mouth
that stays silent
and never yells out,
and yet he goes
about his day as if
he mattered.