six fat tufty
yelling cruel but-
we-can't-stop-
watching sparrows
feast on the quarantine
patio day after day.
you'd think we'd stop
filling the bird-feeder
but this is our world now,
our cat's world, deciding
which one is the ring-
leader, which one maybe
feels the worst about
the exclusionary nature
of bird society--that is to say
we often debate why
the loner crimson cardinal
with the badass mohawk
has to wait to pick at the seed
debris once the hours-long
frenzy is over. before these
large lads showed up we had
starlings attending flight school,
back when the clear Brooklyn sky
was empty, the city submerged
in separation with a hand clapped
across its mouth. but the starlings
grew up & left to build homes
in Green-Wood's eaves
& here we've got these
sparrow siblings squabbling
over the shrinking supply
in the feeder while a mound
of discarded seeds, the potential
for sunflowers perfect small
delicious, rises on the concrete
beneath them.