questions thud
the edges of my mind
when upon
an undecided whirligig
sparrow met
a glass, and pop–

but why should today
vacate its place?
The wee one’s right to be?
thump, & feathers
lay twitching in death’s mort
nevermore to hop, play, sing,
to flutter-ride a breeze

because a fatassed realm smashed
against its frail twigged frame
& claimed
a broader right to exist?

it’s said
if only one of these tiny dancers fell,
the creator’s eyes shed a tear–
did I?

sorrow its puny scream
in that snappish impact?
a point of history
written in force, hushed,
reckless, and blase.

judge how sudden
ambush may strike.

Will thwack mean
anything loftier than
dung on the street?

*

Limericist, 2008