Bird Dreams
BIRD DREAMS
The worst nightmare would be if I
Was an ostrich, and (of course) couldn’t fly.
The fly-guys sit around chugging bird-beer
Boasting of chicks they’ve held dear -
And tales of diving and soaring -
But my earthbound tail is boring.
They exclude me because I’m absurd -
I’m not a real bird. . . . not a bird’s bird.
But if there was reincarnation later,
I’d want to be a penguin, a wearer
Of a smart suit like a posh waiter,
With a kick-ass name like Emperor.
Surely all would find the idea bold:
A story for other birds to be retold.
Yes, my bird-cred card would be gold,
Enjoying the Antarctic cold.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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