Poem: Birdcall

Last updated on February 17, 2021

chittering chattering at the window
as though the strange sounds will call them
a poor interpretation of a poor translation
of a miscommunication at the outset

it may have first been grackles
or perhaps those weird little finches
or, thinking on it, it could have been
the turtledoves that only spoke crow

day after day, perched on the windowsill
the passionate plea to come a little closer
is the forefront sound among many others
dogs, real birds, cars, wind, arguing, sneaking

i will only let you out through the front door
with the expressed understanding that you will stay
close to the house, that birds are only for sport,
and the irony of your lack of carcass
after all of your chittering
does not escape my attention
and does not change
my willingness to let you out
and does not take away
the memory of your
three-bird-daily glory days

you belong to the species
that produces the greatest hunters on earth,
that causes the most ecological disaster,
and none of that matters
as you pay your toll for outside time
with patient purring
and a sincere desire
to receive pettings
at your convenience