The sun rises, and there I am,
another moving spec.
The sun is bright,
but it is more light than warm.
The sun is shining and the
birds are singing-
laughing their goal.
I go about my day as I would any other;
nothing special about today.
To them, I am
Just marching around in rows.
If only they had someone
to look down upon them.
As I get into my truck,
A drop falls from the sky
landing on my head.
I feel the warmth and wetness of
As I run my fingers through the
jungle of my own hair,
I peer into the sky above me.
Could it have been?
Is it possible?
What are the odds?
As the unfortunate conclusion pours
into my head,
the angry realization flows over my face.
A bird pooped on my head!
"Ces't la vie" the French say.
Well, a bird has obviously never pooped
on the head of a Frenchman.
- ► 2006 (17)
- two fathers
- I did not appreciate her until I left. I did not k...
- The Candle's Flame
- A shower in the summertime
- The pillar supports its building, withstanding the...
- The Tempest
- The mute sits under a tree drinking her tea as the...
- born to catch butterflies on her tongue
- Running toward the blackened horizon, the sky is n...
- Her white skin, pure, soft, lightens the night. Br...
- Mother's Ashes
- a letter
- Tonight, my mind meandersthrough the pages of my s...
- Lying face down in the grass, my face is moist. De...
- With ebony hair, black skin offsets tight, dark cu...
- Laurel, MT
- watching my mother in the morning
- For Claire
- The sun will rise over an array of houses, spread...
- If I look closely, with my head pressed to the ...
- The softness of every summer night, for the rest ...
- late one night
- Rain begins to fall. I hold her in my arms. The...
- C'est la vie
- ▼ February (29)