Poetry: Flighty

I am that bleached-blonde robin red-breast,
gulping golden glasses every Thursday night:
siren of spring to some, boring bird to others,
desperate to be noticed.

I am that bird of paradise, perfumed and primped,
old men perched next to her, parroting their prose–
eager for a f***ing frenzy,
despite the gleaming golden talon.

I am that chatty chickadee cheering
for the other bar-room balladeers
then squawking when she sings—
assault on the assembled ears.

I am that distracted dove fiddling with her phone
while that cockatoo she flew in with charms
the puffed-up peacocks, promising her a whole new world
they cannot possibly produce.

I am that hen stuck somewhere
between chick and chicken dinner,
lapping up the free libations, then scurrying away
before the vultures sink their talons in her.

I am that misunderstood mocking bird,
repeating the ramblings of a random world,
regardless of what that heart inside beats for.

Wild, but caged.
Drunken and damaged.

Yet not so fickle after all…

(c) 2010 Carrie A Vibert, all rights reserved
edited 12.18.2010

Awarded 1st prize at the UCONN Waterbury Creative Sustenance Creative Writing Contest for this poem, April 2011

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