And her feathers were ruffled before
So I stared into middle distance
I’ve been painted here once or twice
Over this bustling street
Straight down is the thrill
Of rushing past a moving car
I sneak a peek over my wingblade
Serene and confidant that I will never take flight
She preens and pretends
Two can play at this game
And I watch the passing road monsters
Below our twig-like feet
I drove under a street lamp the other day with two birds on it completely ignoring one another. It was hilarious. Optimistic Existentialist might find this pretty funny.
Birds come up often in what I write, but this is not the first failed bird-romance I've ever written. This one was.