The cuckoo is a trash bird.
It puts its eggs in other birds’ nests
and peaces out, like, whatever.
Cuckoo does what it wants,
which is eat all your fruit,
then get up in a clock
and make out with the gears.
You pretend not to care but it hurts.
And while you cry in the bathroom,
cuckoo “borrows” your car,
doesn’t come home till dawn
smelling like weed
with a long scratch on the hood.
Your friends don’t come around now,
your mom cut you off
‘cause you spent the money
she gave you for rent
to feed him, but they don’t see
how huge and fat and
hungry hungry hungry cuckoo is, how soft
how big his eyes, shiny with tears,
how he needs you
and so you say okay, even
though cuckoo’s big body crumples
your furniture, squeezes you,
cramps you until your breath is shallow
and so you keep double-time hoofing it
to love this swollen baby in your nest.
