I believe birds could be louder
if they tried a little harder.
All this requires that they leave
their fragile homes
cloistered by the trees
and really use the air
in their plush breasts.
Robins could wail
and swallows could scream.
We’d watch the birds waddle,
heaving, but for once,
they’d have something new to say.
Their new slang would be
the material of nightmares and dreams.
I’d wake to robin wails and
the thundering of swallow screams.
In essence, every bird would be a
rooster, waking every morning with a
single purpose: for the love
of hearing the loudest bird.
This was originally published in Fall 2017 edition of The Helix.
