Angry birds

The road slopes down beneath eucalyptus
fingers, the truck bed also sloping
and we hold tight, knuckle-white.
Passing, on the right, almost missing
'20 breeding pairs.' Hand flutter
to the car behind, shaping the shadow form
for hope, radio-tracked.
'Elepaio preserve, let us be thankful!
Our footprint recedes before this jungle silence,
opening space for the warble to live:
Shoo-shoo to-u-rists! Our trajectory
points at
you.