To the Blue Jay that Woke Me Every Morning
− Until the Day I Leaned Out My Window and
Roared, and It Flew Away in a Panic.
If only your voice were a fraction as pretty
as your tail and your back and your crest,
I'd have gratefully welcomed your daily dawn ditty
and sprung from my bed to get dressed.
But instead your high-decibel, rusty-hinge squawk
is as far as could be from life's joys —
it's like seeing Fran Drescher, then hearing her talk:
how could beauty be paired with such noise?
Sixteen years later
During strolls ever since, I've spied robins aplenty,
scarlet tanagers, cardinals too,
and some species that even surprise cognoscenti,
but seldom your wonderful blue.
Paranoia? Perhaps, but I'll venture a stab:
you alerted your friends all around
to steer clear of a beast, feathers droopy and drab,
that makes the world's ghastliest sound.