Conversations Of Birds On A Wire
by R.D. Ronstad
|See that guy
getting out of the pickup truck over
there? He is a lineman for the county.
You can tell by the rhinestones.
Then he says, I meant to
do that. Ha! What a manbrain!
Human offspring play this game with
balloons they fill with water, but I cant
see how that doesnt take all the
fun out of it.
You really expect me to believe that what
you have there is a forty-year-old chunk
of Tippi Hedrens left earlobe?
I think he's flown into one too many
windows. Yesterday I saw him talking to a
pair of tennis shoes.
I always end up back in Capistrano, even
though I swear every time I leave Ill
never come back. But I always do come
back, though I dont know why. Its
like Im caught up in forces beyond
my control. Maybe Im trapped in
some kind of cycle, like Bill Murrays
character in that movie we watched
through the old womans open window
down in Goya. Maybe theres some
lesson I have to learn before I can break
free of Capistrano. But
I cant for the life of me think of
what it might be.
I dont condone violence of any sort,
mind you, but that mockingbird had it
Sometimes I feel sorry for Sylvester. Am
I a bad bird?
I just flew in from Chicago yesterday; I
got pluck-searched going through security.
Curse you, early bird!
She could have told me she just wasn't
interested. I could accept that. But no,
she comes up with this lame excuse about
having to migrate.