Why blackbirds sing

Tangerine juice running down my fingers,
Oozes the same sensation as her song.
A sickly tender tune.

I hatched a plan to snatch her from the riverbed,
Where her kind make merry in the human world,
And have her ear worm echo throughout my halls,
Forevermore in repeat for me.

The townspeople hailed me a knight,
Upon my return with her slung over my shoulder,
I walked through the downtown to a parade of onlookers.

The men slapped their arses and sang crass rhymes,
All while cheering my name,
Instead of making love to their wives that night
They filled my chalice till dawn.

At my estate,
I stood her on the mantel:
“Sing for me—your voice just for me,” I decreed.

Eyes like stone,
Scent of wet soil,
Skin sappy with freshwater,
She opened her mouth,
Contorting her lips this way and that,
Miming the act of singing,
My plea scorned by her trickery,
“You sing devil-thing.”

But, she, the temptress, stole my song.

A fortnight passed with no tune,
The men in town laughed:
“She sang for all,
Until she laid eyes on you—
A man becomes a fool
For his woman’s absent tune.”

I resorted to beg,
With a force of hand
To the nape of her neck,
And the bend of her wrist.

Several nights passed thus—
Yet still she didn’t sing,
Indignant a thing,
She spat and sprayed.

On the thirteenth,
I threw her body on the riverbed,
Returned to her kind.
The humiliation was done,
I did not care to lose.

“Blackbirds call back to their kind—
Warnings from their journey,
Down south there is food aplenty,
Rain is coming west.
Alarms that sound like folk in song—
A survivor’s melodic call.

I am a blackbird of the riverland.

Tell my kin,
The kingdom withers from its rot,
Water runs brown,
Bread rises stale,
streets are bloody.
To my kin,
Fruit in the kingdom is rotten,
Water runs brown,
Bread rises stale,
Streets are bloody,
violence is their birthright

I beg you,
I beg you,
Repeat my warning song.
Repeat my warning song.”