Wings at the Window (poem)

(Photo by Martin Lopez from Pexels)

The goddamned birds

So sure of their role as my predawn alarm clock

Roosters have nothing on blackbirds, robins, wrens and owls

Who giggle and gargle, warble and hoot

Slide their tiny trombones to a high G

Before a single photon oscillates past the horizon

Do I deserve this glorious cacophony?

They are, after all, ethereal, winged creatures

Angels, maybe

Should I give in to their supplanting of my dreams

With tales from the heavens and the trees?