Blackbird expands his epaulets,
puffs up those otherworldly scarlet blazes
edged with bright yellow.
Brilliant wing patches slash
a window into another technicolor universe.
His tiny clawnails grip the stems
of the golden mustard forest,
swaying eight feet tall,
giant in this rainy spring.
Song sparrow in the scrub
says Chip chip, screeeeee.
Every species sings this morning.
Every throat swells with confidence.
Everyone sings I’m the best, I’m the best!
The ladies must be impressed.
We all have our tricks
but most of us aren’t so sure we’ll win.