the bird, the midgets (and me)

walking down to the train I am followed by no-one

hearing their breath in the middle of spring

turning my head I see a couple –

smiling with force – (feathers from a wing)

of a bird at the back – by the door he lay sleeping

as I push the receptor to enter the station

how do I know the bird cannot fly

or is he simply a part – of my own creation

I go to approach him – but the train has appeared

making grand noises just as I suspected

my thumb and my forefinger touch the tip of his wing

and he splutters his feathers – injured (affected)

he is black as spades with a spatter of whiteness

a magpie perhaps – yet how can I say

yet he silently flutters unsteadily by

barely visible – in the darkness of day

did you see that bird; I say to the couple behind me

as I push harder and faster ahead to the door

they seem very small (almost midgets I thought)

and their voices are squeaky and fall to the floor

I sit on the train on a bench made for sharing

but alone I reside – without concern (without caring)

where goes that bird – flitting about in the tunnel in fury

a life made for one – the source of an ending

yet as I muddle along on the train bound for nowhere

the midgets appear and grow taller than me

we saw that bird; they both say – with a shared smile

and we brought him along so that he could be seen

and treated and cared for and loved and looked after

would you like to join us – that is – if you have time

I’d love to; I say – as we leave the train station

my day passing ridicule on the way to sublime

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