Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Stones and Birds

It's funny. Or not so. How the industrial age has made something as beautiful as a killdeer appear foolish while we marvel at the Corvette. Yes! By all means, let's rush and impress and crush and pass by. Birds are only poop to our window and stones an insurance report. I live sixty miles from the Corvette museum. Wish it were farther.

I throw stones
just to.
I skip them
and judge them

but I like stones.

they won’t sell you a car
in crooked haggle
they won’t call you
in the middle of supper
and they can’t pretend
to be anything else.

and they taste good.
I know.

I like killdeer.
I stoop and talk to them
and offer my hand
but they yell
and call me foolish.

they nest in rocks.
right there!
in the middle of parking lots.
in driveways.
in roads.

rocks and eggs
all look alike
in perfect sense.

hide a jelly bean
in a barrel
of jelly beans
safety in the blend.

but a killdeer’s squawking
and feigned
broken wing
cannot detour
the machines of Ford.

nor the mean of
mis-taught children.

so we run them over
and crush them under foot
in a cruel carousel
of manifest destiny

survival of the heartless

I like stones
and I like killdeer
not so sure about Ford, mean children,
or anything else.