The ones they don't want,
the ones no longer needed...
are stuffed, by senders, inside pretty balloons
blown up then sold half price to the breeze,
their paths zigzagging crazily.
Some are found impaled on fences
others are bound for the holy grate
collecting other marginal beings,
some are never found
are they hell or heaven bound?
Others float gently back onto the concrete lap of the sender...
asking through rubber mouths and broken teeth,
"was that lavender lesson or just black accident"?
In silence the senders perch,
replace all eyes with the eulogy of blackbirds,
preparing another balloon to send them off ...again...
I guess that is their answer.