From The
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 can’t
see how that doesn’t 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 Hedren’s 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 I‘ll
never come back. But I always do come
back, though I don’t know why. It‘s
like I‘m caught up in forces beyond
my control. Maybe I’m trapped in
some kind of cycle, like Bill Murray’s
character in that movie we watched
through the old woman’s open window
down in Goya. Maybe there’s some
lesson I have to learn before I can break
free of Capistrano. But … bird! …
I can’t for the life of me think of
what it might be.
I don’t condone violence of any sort,
mind you, but that mockingbird had it
coming.
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. |
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