Sunday 9 November 2014

Bluebird






Bluebird


there’s a Bluebird in my heart that
can’t get out.
he used to sing songs that
only i could hear
because i locked him
in a cage
and poured whisky on him
and choked him with smoke
and now he’s sick.

there’s a Bluebird in my heart that
can’t get out. he’s
too weak to hop
too hoarse to sing
and i’m afraid he’ll die.
he always tried
to get out of his cage
but i would say,
have you gone cuckoo, Bluebird?
don’t you know
this isn’t the time for being pretty?
while we’re
downing pints
or having dinner
or at a party trying
to make small talk with a pretty girl?
don’t you know
normal people
don’t hide a Bluebird inside themselves?

but
whenever we were alone
and i was down or lonely or not so manly
i would crawl
into his cage
and Bluebird would sing
and i would weep
and feel so grateful that he was there.
there’s a Bluebird in my heart that
can’t get out. he’s
sick and i’m worried
if he dies
no one but i will ever see
that i had a pretty Bluebird living in me.