There was once a guy I knew
Who had a bird in his heart
But he hid it away
To make sure that
No one heard it sing
And if that weren’t enough
He poured booze and blew
Smoke on it too
So that it wouldn’t fly away
But I don’t smoke
And rarely drink
I try to encourage him
I bring out the guitar
And play his favorites
To coax him into song
But he just doesn’t
Seem interested
“It’s a world of cats
Cutthroats and cages,”
I tell him
“So there’s no point
In getting down
About it.”
Oh and by the way
He doesn’t fly
Away either
His feathers are falling out
His wings have grown
Into pudgy stumps
So he mopes around
The apartment
And stops at
A window
To gaze at the
Other birds
Soar about and glide
When it occurs
To him that
It isn’t
So much a case of them
Flying
As it is a case of him
Falling
And what can
I say to that?
Rusty Truck 