Barnyard Heritage

Dissatisfied, slightly though noticeably,
They offered no possibility for improvement.
The curly confetti and the Oreo ice-cream cake
All met with the same squeaks of disapproval.
Plus, the drawstrings on those mandatory dunce caps
Chafed the underchins of the mice. Another iteration
In the endless circuit of roller-rink birthdays.

I would not entertain the general nostalgia for
Quivers of arrows and sambuca rollercoasters, so
I nibbled pizza crusts and snubbed all my friends.
I was undergoing intense spiritual transformations just then.
My interior landscapes were being redecorated by the
DJ whom I recognized from the petting zoos
Of my youth. Dangling from one crummy cobweb,
My hamstrings tight as winches, I withdrew
Into the lonely tortoise of my heart.

Not a moper, I did replay that compromising episode
From the new wing of my mind. My sorrow drunk
On the lawn in the rain, its wife still away on vacation
With her birds. How long had it been? The pecking order went
Pigeons then starlings then sparrows. And my sorrow,
Married to an old gingerbread, could not bear to watch
The starlings hoard her.

I, an owl, emerged from that theater like a bowling ball
Over the thin, polished boards of the arena. I could
Not keep from scurrying after the patches of light which
Scattered beneath the disco-ball. I calculated three
Or four fragments per saltine cracker. From there,
The work of writing, although I could have sworn
They were sardines.