Randy robin redbreast
running
repeatedly
into the plate glass door
as if looking for a way in.
I worry about today’s youth:
the instinct
above all else
this drive
to procreate
when
for the life of me
circling back around
cannot recall the pros
only to be found
in prose.
Are you and I
birds of a feather
having already built this nest
just
as concussed
beating my brains
looking
for a way out.