At night, late past
twelve, I hear them.
Loud chirping birds
clear like night sounds
unmuddied by day
droning. They are
unapologetic. Sharp-
shouting, “I am heard!”
No contest for their
platform, no shove-
pushing, first-in-line
claim-staking. They
are joyous bastards.
4-5-13
Originally published in Eunoia Review, 11-3-13
Sarah Thursday 