Tar and Feather
Tar and Feathers
His name is Bob.
Not Robert.
He is a bird.
I want to make that clear from the start.
I am bigger than him and he depends on me.
That is for food, water, treats and shelter.
Am I clear?
No one is listening.
I can see that by the blank faces,
clear through the machine.
I am talking, but saying very little.
Sometimes he is mean, and I must work.
He will not let me stop.
Then he dumps over my coffee.
He is just making me better.
I needed to re-write that piece anyway.
Maybe…
His wings are green, red and lovely cobalt blue,
But let me tell you more.
He has claws, that work better than just fingers.
They clutch and climb, and make the bell chime.
Seriously, I can not do any work, while he is on my desk.
Yet every day he finds his way there.
Is this a test?
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