Mockingbird
A mockingbird flew over my head
The other day
And I thought,
“I should reach up and grab you.”
So I did.
A cupped handful of warm gray feathers
Flashing white wingbands
And that neverending stream-of-consciousness monologue,
Now just a clacking and irritated mini-tornado.
I’ll tell you the truth,
Them things don’t like being caught.
I couldn’t help but think of the day we met
And how you zoomed along right past me
Looking nice-as-could-be
With your curls and swingy dress.
It took just about the whole rest of the year
To get you to kiss me, but
It was worth it.