Awful

Awful

I awoke to a loose pile of tiny grey feathers

where I really should put an area rug

I'd really hoped you'd made it out

That day, you came in, swooping and crashing

like a act in a carnival tent

As much as a man my size can

I tried to chase you out and away

to shoo you through the door

or out the window through which you had come

as my cat watched intently

like a juiced referee

My place is so tiny

but with plenty of places

a bluebird who's lost could go hide

After a while, you'd just disappeared

and I didn't know if you're still inside

I worried and fretted,

called friends who, "I bet" -ted

I left out some bread in a bowl

I hoped and I prayed

that you hadn't stayed

that you'd escaped

because such was the goal

but this morning my bladder

poked as it does

every half hour or so

and I found the soft splatter

of your tiny feathers

before I saw you on the floor

Your tiny body

still blue but now stiff

made me flinch as I sought

napkins for covering it

How long did it take you to die?

I tried to count up the days

the days since you look that Hitchcockian left

and watched most of your choices fly 'way

A slow death it was,

not outside in the Winter,

the cold that broke records this year

No, you quietly lay, awake, scared and starving

while my cat and I watched reruns on Fox

before wishing "Sweet dreams" to each other

You had a horrible death

You died on Christmas Eve

and plumbers charge triple on the day before Christmas

so my miniature victim, my medieval guest

I'll not try the toilet

but place you in the trash

amongst all of the boxes that had previously brought in

all of those frozen dinners