Fuck Altruism

Blackbirds are beginning to build their nests,

tugging at twigs in the holly hedge when I wonder

would I care if they get the rash it took me many

dumb years to learn was from trimming and tugging

there too? Others scavenge on the ground for winter’s  

dead remains and sometimes straw that’s drifted from the

rabbit’s run. Such diligence in avian instinct where ladies

still perform the bulk of their historical purl and knit.

Would I also care about the magpie’s fruitless industry in

pulling at the honeysuckle off-cuts I left long and

entwined on the ground?  I could snip this to freer lengths

so she could build that home and continue to mock me

with those ugly calls, but as no one helps me in my hard

life, they can all go to hell and join other flapping falls.