Day: March 28, 2019

The parrots come screeching over the back yard,

A pair of them, mates perhaps, or siblings.

I looked in Wikipedia, they are monogomous,

But like us? Highly imperfect, veering after

Another of their kind, caught in the fantasy

Of a thrill that might soar but sooner or later

Will land with a thud. They live in the

Giant fan palm down the block; the man

In the nearest house brought out his gun

And tried to shoot them; he was driven mad

By their loud shrill colloqies but his

Neighbors failed to understand, they warned him,

The police would be called if he tried again.

The man moved and the parrots stayed,

Their green feathers glossy in the sunlight,

Their cries of ecstasy or anguish or maybe

Just rote noises like the dog’s bark that

Erupts for no reason in the middle of the night.

Or no apparent reason, I should say,

Because how can we know what enters

The canine brain, the skull of the parrot

With its prehistoric beak, useful for cracking

Nuts and seeds, I learned, a fact of no

Importance, no utility in a world we believe

To be of our own making when it fact it

Belongs to the parrots that screech from

The regal heights of their lofty tree.

 

 © Dennis Hathaway

 

[return to POTD index]