The Avaian

Oh, to be a better bird.

That’s how I flew out from the bed

this morning.

And why.

Rushing, gushing

these ancient joints lubed with a joy

of still can do,

here I go,

these wings,

out beyond the rapacious reaper’s ruin.

Ha! Dumb thing,

no match for the avaians.

Inbound dream,

outbound skeedaddle,

and this shadow skips along below,

that’s me on the roadway,

there and all up here,

mean ole’ reaper hafta wait

one more day…..

When

Ima getting up,

suiting up once more.

I’m a better bird,

and all consistent with my whatevers,

repetitious morning joys —

Loop-de-loop

with this lit’n lamp.

And I flew out of bed this morning.

Again.