The Birds

The window was open a bit,

like parted lips, and from its

mouth came songs to interrupt

my dreams.

It was more than interruption.

It was an integration of

of mixed language and trills

and dreamscape.

As if Hitchcock put sub-titles

underneath their chirps and

squawks and whistles and

a foreign film rolled on.

The robins and the grackles

sub-titles started wriggling

under them like worms

in the dirt.

 

“You know Grack, why is it

we have wings and we are

sent to the soil to get

breakfast?”

“I have, I’ve, I’ve, I’ve

gotten that conversation

 reeling in my brain too.

Robin, oh, if I were a bird

I would fly away from here.”

“Sometimes I pretend I am

a rabbit…hopping down here

from worm hole to worm

hole.”

“ I I I feel the earth move

under my my my feet, I

feel the sky tumbling down,

a tumbling down.”

“Hey, get real, that’s

groceries you’re hoppin’

past friend.  Let’s see a

little neck action over there!”

“Now, now, don’t you you you

get a little feather bent over

feeding your little ones

second hand goods.  I mean

worms are are are gross

enough the first time.”

“Not the huge earth worms,

hey watch this…”

It was then I started to wake

when I saw the big

orange breast dip and

yank an earth worm like

scarves from a sleeve.

Pulling and pulling and

pulling a gewy dirt soil

freckled beast and sucked

it in like linguini.  The robin

stood among the blades

perfectly still for 13 seconds

and then cast the worm

out. 

And there it lay, divided in

three equal sections

by square knots.

The robin said nothing,

jutted out it’s chest

and nodded and

ascended like a

harrier for a moment,

and then flew away.

The grackle stood 

with its beak hanging open.

“Well,  I’ll, I’ll, I’ll be.”


Posted for one shot where poets do their poeting.