Bird watching

I pass him every morning, and one day finally stopped to LOOK at him. I found his perfection moving, and at the same time was disturbed by these thoughts:

Wings raised

Wings raised, the noble predator
will never know release
(unless some cataclism come,
to set free every beast.)

Untried, the females of his kind,
no nest was ever his.
He guards a garden and a house,
for him, that’s all there is.

I wonder if he chafes within.
Can iron have a heart?
It’s my suspicion that he does.

How cruel of Vulcan’s art
to freeze him there on someone’s fence
before he could depart!

His bride

WARNING! Sensitive content. This poem may offend some people. Three times in the past week I’ve seen a nun in an all white habit walking along the same path I take in the morning. The question in the first line came up because you really don’t see many nuns in habits walking on the street anymore, not even here in Barcelona. And after that, thinking that in these hard times, she’s not so badly off.

His Bride

I'd like to know her order's name, that nun all dressed in white, and test the comfort of the bed where she spends every night.

She's married with her sisters to a single deity! I wonder how it works at night? First you, and then it's me?

I wonder how her marriage fares, is she still attracted to her lord? Or did she choose the convent life just for the room and board?

Bus strike

Yesterday the metropolitan bus system was on strike. In theory, they are required to offer a fixed minimum service, something like 50% of the usual bus frequency. If you take public transport, you’ve been there, and you know that minimum seems like none. This jingle came to me this morning as I waited for the bus.


The woman in front of me melted
as we stood waiting in line.
(It wasn’t exactly a party;
We’d been there a very long time.)

I reached out and tried to support her,
grasping for some solid bit
so a doctor somewhere might rebuild her.
(In theory all you need is a rib.)

The bus was arriving!
Our wait finally over!
“You’re melting too soon!”,
I heard myself scold her.

My efforts were fruitless.
She was already gone.
Just a spot on the sidewalk.
The line had moved on.