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Huffing Paint In the Mini-Van
Baby birds tweet as their long skinny necks stretch towards blind faith. Somewhat frantically; newly born; next to dead; fragile existence; protected with life. Regurgitation from the same embodied mouth that an egg came from. Hidden from the world in a tree of life and chosen by the universe, without choice. Bound by instinct, life's purpose is to live. Feather light with a solid frame; wings for flight flap for unexplainable reason…; decomposers prey on the dead. Predators’ gifted with unmatched naked eye site; take life. Meaningless meanings that explanation is interrogated by; comparing this ability to fly with freedom. Arguing its merits as well; baby birds incubated from eggs rely on instinct…; unable to see with their eyelids stuck shut. Definitions define with answers…; created by a man. Facts become law. Acceptance leaves out the option of debate; born into this world with instincts and long necks…; only to rely on blind faith.
Feb.2015
I have a special place in my heart for this poem. Naming a poem ‘Huffing Paint in the Minivan’ just randomly popped into my head upon a recollection from my teenage years. My closest brother (at that time of my life) made a comfortable living selling twenty bags to all my high school friends. He bought a big blue van that we called the Smurf Mobile because we removed all the seats and lined every inch of the interior with super thick foam and we lined it with camouflage blue. And it was a full-size van; not a minivan. For whatever reason, huffing paint in the van just doesn’t have the same ring to it as Minivan.
The idea of the title originated in roughly 2002 when I was up early one Saturday morning. I was packing for baseball training camp in Omaha, NE, when I noticed the Smurf van rocking and I heard whispering voices. When I ripped open the back doors I was greeted by my two best friends and they were, in fact, huffing paint in the mini-wan; gold paint…
The two of them, complete idiots getting caught, looked like baby birds trying to flap their armsd like chicken wings. I laughed and then aided their secret huffing society by shutting the doors, left with a mental image that I won’t ever forget.
About the metaphor that this poem most surely is, I am pointing out the innocence of newly found life; in general. We are dependent on our guidance; vulnerable to life at the most fragile level possible. This inability of the baby birds to see is an imagery tactic that is extremely versatile in regards to relatable on a majority scale. It is my poetic mission to point out the options of our ignorance. Ignorance as a stigma rather that definitive word and has a great deal of hype attached to its meaning; ignorantly misunderstood. As we all are born ignorant and clueless to life we look to our closest role models for answers to what’s right and wrong; true or false. As we eventually become of age to freely think about life and begin forming our own opinions and establishing beliefs that we can only deem as self evident. I mention the food chain as a reminder of the circle of life. And through this is an entire seemingly naturalistic poem, about baby birds that rely on blind faith in the ability of their caretakers to provide as an instinctual behavior; without question. Logical led belief would be that we put faith into the ones who love us. Ultimately reliant upon faith in a higher meaning to life, truly believing that life is a blessing no matter how bad things may be right now, deep down we know in our hearts that we have a special place here on earth. This positive life outlook is the most effective way to achieve our ultimate life goal; happiness…
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Ironic Zink
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