Ode to a Lonely Crane

A crane can scream

over the loss of its lover

till its throat scabs over,

and Bob and I can talk

about the bird till we

relate to it too much,

start calling it

Wilhelm,

thinking we’re

clever.

 

Wilhelm is quiet

nowadays,

but Bob and I still see it

from time to time, walking

alone by the retention pond,

leaving piles of shit in the

empty parking spaces.

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2 thoughts on “Ode to a Lonely Crane

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