Mock Bird


Shoot all the blue jays you want, if you can hit ’em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” 

I daresay that anybody who has waxed poetic about mockingbird has never tried to sleep in a neighborhood of overlapping nesting territories. I’m looking at you, Atticus Finch. 

Our house has somehow become the epicenter of some kind of mockingbird rap battleground. There are at least three vocal males in the area, so no matter what side of the house you are on you can hear the breathless, frantic trumpeting of competing birdsong. It reminds me of living in Humboldt Park in Chicago, surrounded by car alarms. Only a car alarm will eventually chirp to a stop when the owner finally gets around to dismissing the alarm (or an annoyed neighbor dismisses it with extreme prejudice. And possibly with a wrench.) 

Mockingbirds have no off switch. They have no snooze button. I’m reasonably certain that they never breathe- they certainly never stop to inhale. And those fuckers are LOUD! When you can hear them over the white noise of two box fans running at full blast, the noise pollution of a major metropolitan area, and the grinding roar of the neighbor’s air conditioning unit you know you’re listening to a creature with some significant projection. 

So that’s my life. Real life Twitter,as it turns out, is just as trumpetingly annoying as the social media version. 

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~ by Gwydhar Gebien on July 11, 2017.

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