Her Stepmom (like her spawn)’s a jerk;
Her Pop’s just gone; she’s forced to work
As servant to her step-sisturds.
So, what’s her secret? Lots of birds.
When parrots talk amongst themselves
They don’t discuss Saltines and Ritz
But keep such topics on the shelves
For when a human visits. It’s
Their gift to us, in lieu of sh*ts.
Frogs that aren’t afraid of birds
Are loud enough to drown the words
Of observations in the dark
By random people in the park,
But when the sun is in the sky
You have to listen to the guy
Beside you; birds are not good friends
To audible amphibians
Whose invisibility cloaks
Are missing. God, I miss those croaks.
Birdies tweeting in the trees
Beneath my bedroom window, please
Be quiet! People (me) need sleep!
(They’re freaked about these leaping sheep.)
The twelfth day of the holiday
Passed quietly for me:
No drummers (chased them all away);
Few birds (we’re down to three).
I love receiving gifts, but, man,
When they don’t make a moving van
That’s nearly big enough
To pack up all the birds and women
That you sent this year.
Don’t start me on the swans a-swimmin’!
(That’s a fowl I fear.)
I don’t think that I can keep
This rivalry in play.
So call me cheap, but let me sleep!
No birds next Christmas day?
I have a hat that’s overrun
With birds, which sounds like lots of fun
Unless you have a phobia
Of screaming birds all over ya’,
In which case this is not the topper
For which you should opt: Show-stopper.
If you’d like to try it, though,
And don’t mind bird-poo, Go, Dog, Go!
“I like that hat,” Boy Dog will cry,
“I like that birdy hat!” Though why
Girl Dog should care a flipping whit
About what he thinks, I don’t git.
My point, non-P.D. Eastman nerds,
Is this: I’ve got a hat with birds.
Five birds there were who rose as one
To catch the breeze that swept the street
A tomcat on the hunt for fun
Leaped, snapped, and landed on its feet
Four birds there were who wheeled and banked
And dove for shelter in a tree
Where stood a watchful hawk who thanked
For that he ate, the other three
Three birds the twilight quiet shattered
Squawking terror, anger, fear
Upon a windshield one bird spattered
Après truck, two reappear
Two birds with their hearts a-flutter
Flying high in dying light
A shot, a bark, a pan with butter
Someone’s dining well tonight
One bird, silent, watchful, wary
Crouches in an empty nest
Companions make the night less scary,
Cold and lonely…still, it’s very
Spacious here without the rest….