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Able to dupe the cuckoo’s

song and trumpet spring

and be the intimates

of men, sparrows can’t stop

the cowbird slipping

her egg into their

nest before she

rides off

on the backs of

great slow cattle.

A parasite

eating parasites,

the cowbird lets her baby go

for the ride.

I’ve heard

how sparrows

will stuff their foster

baby’s tireless

gimme, gimme

with flowers and grubs,

his witless body extending

the shadow around them.

And I’ve wondered if I’d put up

as much to get as much.

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