Robins
There is a collective revving
of chutzpah and pluck.
It's known, it's time,
bird-brains do not ask.
The flock takes flight.
One robin jumps late,
takes off alone.
It has an instinctual drive,
it should have left
with the others.
However, birds don't know -
regret.
It struggles to catch up,
then segues in mid-air,
as if to say:
fork it.
The robin lands alone
on a bare branch.
It doesn’t care anymore.
Robins are not starlings.
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