The
poem about the Mexican
bird vendor
tweets without end
What
else would it fucking do
fool
tweet-fucking-tweet
cuckoos
nightjars potoos
crammed as they are
dozens of fledglings to the fetid
cage
finches
thrushes vireos
a dozen or more
stacked cages
a towering wing
god’s own feathered jukebox
strapped to this man’s shirtless
back
honeycreepers & warblers
& those seemingly tethered
to out-thrust sticks
that fly no further
than the first thought of
castigation
hunger anonymity
hauled
around the central plaza
& into the courtyard
of the grand Cathedral
Rufous-crested
chestnut-bellied lineated
this poem wants to know
if you can spare two bucks
twenty pesos
if you are attentive
if you’ve ever held a bird in
your palm
& fought the urge
nothing more mind you
cousin
to gently close your fingers
around a desperate flutter