Saturday, January 21, 2006

Struck by a Sparrow

Struck by sparrows flung in a dark
cage, the snow has been gone
for seven long summers. There is cake sitting
out on the stove
but it's none of my concern:
the birthday party was last

Then the postman, someone
who was much like my father, told me I
no longer come home anymore:
he didn't like the way my hat
on my head.

That was the last I heard of old
Belfast, the old man
who once gave me my
-published in Toasted Cheese Journal

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