Lazy Birder

Psychiatric Times, Vol 32 No 5, Volume 32, Issue 5

Dawn is at five, but I sleep past nine, not caring if I miss a few warblers flying home for summer...

[[{"type":"media","view_mode":"media_crop","fid":"17451","attributes":{"alt":"","class":"media-image media-image-right","height":"126","id":"media_crop_8128410933677","media_crop_h":"0","media_crop_image_style":"-1","media_crop_instance":"3751","media_crop_rotate":"0","media_crop_scale_h":"148","media_crop_scale_w":"125","media_crop_w":"0","media_crop_x":"0","media_crop_y":"0","style":"float: right;","title":" ","typeof":"foaf:Image","width":"107"}}]]Dawn is at five, but I sleep past nine,

not caring if I miss a few warblers

flying home for summer. I was a lazy

med student, too, hated to see sunrise

before surgery rounds, didn’t study

all night to learn the differential

diagnosis for athlete’s foot.

But I was never lazy with my love

for patients and their stories,

the way they appeared at the ER

without warning, like the pair

of cedar waxwings in my apple trees

suddenly back from the tropics,

elegant black masks, stylish crests,

and that fiery red wing patch

even a lazy birder can’t help but notice.