Poetry Posts

a wounded bird is in the road
it is very much alive
but obviously injured
there is blood

a car stops and a man gets out
his intent to remove a nuisance
but the bird is alive
flailing and chirping pitifully

what a pretty bird
and such a shame
people these days just don’t care
someone hit it on purpose i think

the bird flails weakly and pitifully
as if to say why have i been treated this way?
why is the world so cruel
i would live for a moment of sympathy

the man turns on the emergency blinkers
crumbles up some crackers he has
pours a little water into a bottle cap
the bird eats and actually sings a little

encouraged the man thinks
i can save this bird
life has been bad for the poor creature
but perhaps i can make things better

already late for work the man
calls in sick
and then studies how to care
for the wounded bird in the road

well it can’t stay here
it will only get run over again
by the cruel, indifferent,
mean-spirited world

the bird seems appreciative and
sings and chirps warmly
the eyes are brighter and the
flailing less desperate

ok i’ve fed you a little
and you seem to feel better
now is a good time
to get out of the road

there is, luckily, a cardboard box
in the car, perfect for the bird
he takes his scarf and stuffs
the box to make it comfortable

he cautiously approaches and
the bird seems calm,
still seemingly bright eyed
and appreciative

he must kneel down close
being careful to do no additional harm
gathering the wings just enough
to ease the bird from the pavement

his face is close by necessity
and the bird suddenly pecks furiously
poking the man’s nose hard
finding his left eye

there is blood, his blood
he drops the bird roughly
and it flails as before
he staggers awkwardly backward

he wipes the blood from his face
his eye isn’t injured badly but
the blood blinds it
so that he doesn’t know

he knocks over the water bottle
and crushes the crackers
he staggers to the car
and spins the tires getting away

all the while cursing the
wounded bird to perdition and
denouncing himself for his naive
kindness and for being deceived

the wounded bird is in the road
it is very much alive
but obviously injured
there is blood

a car stops and a man gets out
his intent to remove a nuisance
but the bird is alive
flailing and chirping pitifully

what a pretty bird
and such a shame
people these days just don’t care
someone hit it on purpose i think

i can save this bird
life has been bad for the poor creature
but perhaps i can make things better

the bird seems appreciative and
sings and chirps warmly

my grandfather
i smelled my grandfather
this morning in the
sweat soaked gloves
i use on the dumbbells

i remember him as sad
because the love of his live
died young, in childbirth

i wish he could have
found some happiness
to share with me

but i guess some wounds
just won’t heal…
still i was just a kid

but today is a gift to me
and as long as i draw breath
i’m going to live live live

My Grandfather poem copyright Andy Derryberry