A poem written before the seven o’clock hour from someone “in the back 40”
All flights of fancy or inaccuracies are my own and should not be attributed to the noble AI bots who are conquering the world on our behalf, the cheeky blighters.
You, restless wanderer who have paused here amongst us –
mortals with toes unwebbed
You who flap and call and terrify those of us who
cannot read your stance, your gait
Are you angry today? Proud? Your inscrutable face –
the tiny eyes that keep their secrets
In truth I am jealous of your many gifts the universe –
unmeasured in her benevolence – has given you
Your ready access to bathroom facilities would make
any teacher – cross-legged – weep
Though few would avail themselves of such abilities
so readily, privacy is all to most mortals
Your constant access to snacks also engenders envy
My drawer is empty of granola bars today
Though once more, I do not find your choice of food appetizing
and leave you to your bugs and soggy fries
I am told you will leave us soon, take to wing,
once more lead your mate and brood into the world
I, thus far unchased, hold no enmity towards you and find
in your presence only pastoral, even bucolic, peace
I will miss you, kind sir, but wish you a gentle breeze
and sunlit waters to wash the remainder of your days
Bellantonio, I am told, makes secret phone calls to officials
who have informed him of your secrets
He calls her Emma, but I suspect she is a spy on all bird kind
Keep your true heart safe, and confide in none
You will know when the time is right, listen to only yourself
The pull of the stars, of the sky is within
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