A Vet’s Friday
A sparrow was picking insects on the road a car came, the bird nearly
got away, but was hit by the car’s wing mirror I stopped dismounted
and picked it up. It looked stunned gasping for air. Put the bird on
the shady, grassy verge, waited for it to recover, and to see it fly away.
Afar, behind the mountain range, smoke two helicopters with big bags
of water hanging underneath are flying towards the forest fire.
The countryside is dry yet the sun goes on shining hot and spiteful.
I look at the sparrow it had overcome and died with an open beak; and
I was the only witness. My effort to be a rescuer and a hero in my own
vanity had failed, was it my heavy hands that had shocked it to death.
Nothing more to do I can’t stay here all day looking at a dead bird.
The helicopters are returning to fill those enormous bags with water in
a nearby lake and sparrows do as they must pick insects off the road
while we wait for rain.