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 Bird in the Pad
 
Have you ever gone out as night is falling
and had a wisp of a breeze pin you down
and inject something into you
makes you come within an nth
of following it to its pad. . .however
far out. . .to lie under black lights
on a mattress half-cloud, half-star,
knowing, just knowing
another breeze will slip in
to help you out before the shot
wears off. . .then another, and
another?   Duuuuuuuuude,
where have you been all my life?
No tick, no tock, only the sssss of
a hummingbird sipping. . .what?  
 
. . .but you caught yourself in time?
Slapped yourself awake,  brushed
the breeze aside and went in,
set your alarm, crawled in a bed
bore your shape?  Smelled of bought
scent?  Nothing screamed
summer.  Like that.
 
. . .woke of course to a day like the day
before,  After.   When you are blue,
do you ever feel the breeze tiptoe
up and tug at your sleeve?  Needle slip
in without  trouble?   Dream
you went for real?  Picture going
back and finding photos of you
but not.   Don't smile
like that.  No poster
neons Chill or Peace
in our Time.   
Wings.

 

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2006   {All Rights Reserved}