I already told the birds
that we’re the best at nesting.
The crow out in the yard regarded me with a blank stare,
the starling just flounced back to her flock.
I already told the robin too, as she searched for worms,
beak rooted deep, she ignored me.
She stood plumage plump while her newly excavated meal
squirmed. She simply paid me no mind.
I told the jay later this morning while
he harassed his feathered folk near the feeder.
His eyes darting, he merely paused,
then went about his aggressive deeds.
At lunchtime, I told the mockingbird,
high in the tree, so I had to raise my voice.
He just continued to be an imposter, a poser, a confusion.
All the while, awaiting a valued audible to mock,
Perhaps I will be next.
This afternoon, I told the sparrow,
they actually listened.
A little later I told the cardinal, but I think he was
distracted, by a female companion. Her orange feathers
brighter and song unusually pert.
This evening I told the barn owl,
while he just looked at me inquisitively and asked, “Who?”
I told him, you and I, we’re the best at nesting.