cacophony

four am . . .

perched in the lilac bush

outside the bedroom window

he begins singing at the top of his lungs

signaling all the neighborhood robins

to join him in his enthusiasm

for the dawn he believes is imminent

doesn’t matter whether it is April or June

he consults the wrist watch worn

around his left leg with the precision

of a station master in charge of arrivals

regardless of when the sun

pushes the darkness away

no consideration given

to human occupants huddled in beds

after a long winter of snows

unwilling to shut the window

or bury their heads under pillows

to shut out the robins’ cacophony

life is like these dilemmas

one can’t have it all

sleep or singing can’t coexist

the robins make a clear choice

in favor of singing out their hearts

the better choice in this crazy world