Of Our Own

It’s hard to comprehend
What a creature could be
Wanting with squawking but

Not defending something—
No mate, no kill, no cache—
Nor luring anything

Maybe worth defending
Later—prey, mates, partners
In committing life’s crimes.

Lord! What’s all this squawking
About? We’d say you love
The sound of your own voice,

But we can tell you don’t.
There’s something else you love,
Something physical, joy

In a noise that you know
Has a piece of your mind
And a mind of its own.