The opening of a new egg hatch at St. Columbidae’s has recently reignited controversy around the practice. The hatch, which is also called an eggbox or hatchling wheel, allows gravid mothers to anonymously lay their egg into a soft warm nest. The egg can be reclaimed for up to 8 days, after which it is anonymously adopted.

Critics of the egg hatch claim that it encourages brood parasitism and promiscuity. “These young birds are having too much sex,” complained one member of the public, “and an egg is divinely ordained punishment for that promiscuous behavior. When you take away the punishment, there is no purpose–only pleasure.” Asked if young male birds should also suffer for promiscuousness, they replied “Of course not. Those boys are just sowing their wild oats. It’s not fair to make them support an egg at that young age.”

Egg hatch supporters insist that it will actually cut down on brood parasitism deaths, in which young cuckoos eject and murder their foster siblings or young cowbirds attempt to out-compete and starve them. By allowing them to lay into an egg hatch, supporters say, is a safe way for brood parasites to reproduce. “With an egg hatch,” said one supportive member of the public said, “no one has to die, and chickless families can safely adopt young cuckoos and cowbirds without the stigma of brood parasitism.”

Opponents remain unconvinced by these arguments. “Good is good, and everything He does is planned,” said one online commenter. “Promiscuous birds must suffer retribution, and the baby birds murdered by their foster siblings are going to a better place.”

At press time, the office of the governor was considering an executive order to preemptively ban egg hatches. “Not enough native birds are being born, and invasive birds are plotting to replace them,” he said in a statement. “Only by imposing the full, crippling, punishment of egg brooding on unwary mothers can we reverse this troubling trend and make sure that more of the right kinds of birds are born.”

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Replay, replay, the Fourth of May
When a set of twins did a lot
I can think of no reason
Why the Force sensitive season
Should ever be forgot

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On swiftborne wings
They cross the sky
Their chittering brings
A wandering eye

Yet they’re more fragile
Than they seem
For things so agile
They’ve a delicate gleam

Bereft of roosts
Few insects on high
Once what was loosed
May homeless die

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A killdeer was killhere
Nervously pacing in the field
While a mockingbird, nearby
Incorporated its call
Into a cacophony
Was it put out to be mocked so
Or just irked to be insulted
In its own language

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I try to make sure I am grateful
To tell others how much they’re valued
How much they contribute
They are just words
But they’re all I have to give

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Everywhere we walk at the art fair
Our first purchase in hand
People stop to admire it
The inlaid, geometric perfection
Of a cutting board assembled like
The lobby floor of a Jazz Age hotel
We tell them over and over
Where the artist’s booth is
Urging them to go, to buy
But that light leaves their eyes a bit
When we mention the $150 price tag
When I asked the artist how long
Each piece took, he told me a month
I want to look the others straight
In the eye and say, as if agreeing
“Yes, $150 is highway robbery,
he is selling himself far too short”
I don’t know what I would charge
For a month of my life
But it would be more than that
If I could find a buyer

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Brightly colored native birds, all in a row
Intricate papercraft all, politely perched
And made of end-on paper folded and glued
Stunning bit of paper art, still envelope-able
But even as I admire it, I know
They would never pose that well together
Robin, cardinal, bluebird, goldfinch, hummer
They would fight
Oh, how they would fight

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It’s in the brambles that one must look
Between bland manicured greens
Nature surviving in the nooks
Living amid the in-betweens

It’s not the fittest that thrive
In these man-altered zones
Those who stay alive
And make the cracks their own

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It lays there, solid steel warmed by midday asphalt
A holy ring of solid steel, malefactor gripped tight
The short claw of the law, flight an impossibility
It feels like there should be some empathy
For the poor stranded vehicle, chained unwillingly
But seeing the bleached-tooth gleam of that SUV
Its fraternity parking pass flaunted on the dash
Out of state Texas plates loud, proud
Knowing that this may be the one, the only
Situation they can’t weasel out of
In their young lives lived on cruise control
The only response is a smug smile
And a “give ’em hell, meter maid.”

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Someone once asked me
“Friend, I love books
So very much, should I
Work at a library or
At a bookstore someplace?”
And I smiled and shook my
Head. Having done both, and
Turned my hobby into a job

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