We considered the possibilities:

we could drop a rock on him,

drown him in the sink, poison

him with household products, hold

him inches from the exhaust pipe

of my running car. Neither of us

would take his life – even though

it was the humane thing to do, so Miller

Bird, the green parakeet, died

naturally, died after two hours,

two hours of screeching, falling

off his perch, flailing his failing

wings against the bars of the cage.

We then wrapped him in a towel

and held him, held him

so he couldn’t fly, or try to fly, held

him when those green eyelids fell,

when his legs straightened, when his

feet curled into submission. 

~ Previously published in Entelechy International: A Journal of Contemporary Ideas (2006)