you sit outside my window
covering the songs of other birds.
In my bird-call ignorance,
I have no reason to judge.
I sit and enjoy your repertoire.
I wonder: When standing
at the microphone, if I spoke
only the words of other poets,
would I be mocked?
THE WOODHEN MOCKS
Yeah, I see you over there,
struttin’ around all stiff-legged.
You think you’re somethin’
but I saw you up there in the air.
You call that a dance?
I’ve seen turkeys spiral up better than you.
Hey, I’m gonna call you Rock,
’cuz that’s how you fell.
You’re suppose to fall like a leaf,
all graceful and floatin’ gently,
but the way you came down—Rock.
No wonder you’re walkin’ so stiff.
Yeah, you may have the call down,
mimicking one of them fine woodcocks,
but honey, you ain’t foolin’ none of us girls.