THE FOOL
I sometimes wish I was an animal,
with two extra feet - maybe for speed
or agility; I never really know why.
It's the dumbest thing really.
-
The other day, at some beachfront slum,
walking the littered shoreline, I found
a bullet-shaped white bird, dead in
the surf. Not surf, more like just sand.
-
A sandy backwash, mostly littered
with junk - you know, like humans
do. Bottles, and wires, and old plastic
things; the thrown-off complaints
of a wandering world.
-
Well, then, anyway. The bird wasn't
long dead, still looked fresh. Beak,
feet, blank eyes, all intact. It floated,
or moved along, anyway, a little bit
each time the water rolled. Sad.
-
All I could do was wonder. All I could
do was stare; but in the back of my
mind - quite frankly - I wished for
the power of touch, to bring things
back to life. My God called me a fool.
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