That Bird

The student spots a sparrow, its
brown wings snuggled
beak opening only for the occasional chirp
sitting on a dead winter tree
with all the time in the world.
“Damn,”
they think,
“that bird
doesn’t need to worry about the SAT
or its social status
or its parents
or its grades
or its face”.
They keep on walking.

Then comes the widow.
She detested that bird,
who looked down at her with tearless eyes.
“Damn,”
thinks she,
“that bird
doesn’t lie awake at night
cold, lonely,
filled with regret
waiting for something that will never come”.
She moves on.

The soldier arrives soon after.
He had filled a lot of people
with a lot of holes
and felt like
he had quite a few holes in himself.
He hurls a great rock
at the judgemental, no-good sparrow,
and it flies away.
“Damn”
says he,
“I wish I could have killed
that bird
too.”

That bird
soars above,
“damn”
it whistles,
“I’m slowly dying
of hypothermia.”

That bird
falls,
twitching,
and dies a few hours later.