Three Cardinals

Dorsey’s Knob, West Virginia

Three cardinals flutter

On a picnic bench

And I can’t stop my mind

What’s their call sound like again?

Is it eee OOO or EEE ooo?

Am I even close?

Why is it so hard for me to recall birdsongs if I haven’t just heard them?

The birds were named after the Catholic middle managers.

And just like that

They are gone

And I fail to appreciate them

To truly drink in and sip of their presence

Yet again.

I am forced instead

To appreciate a stink bug

Who has flown into the copse of hair on my thigh

It moves awkwardly

Likely overwhelmed by my fur

Who the fuck knew

That their faces

Are kinda cute?

I stare at its stupid-looking face

And laugh to myself.