There's a blue bird on the window sill
trying to decide if he should come in
or stay out.
While I have
my own
answer
to this question,
the blue bird
seems more than a little
undecided.
So for the last eight minutes
we've just been sitting here
staring at each other,
it's moving back and forth on the sill
occasionally ruffling his feathers
and staring at me
sitting in this chair
as he
(I assume he's a "he"
for no other reason
than only a male
can ever be this indecisive
about such simple matters)
tries to make up
his mind.
Occasionally he
looks like he's going
to step forward
into the actual
innards
of this old
rotting
house
of no hope,
but way too much
youth.
Just then,
he stops,
shakes out his feathers,
and moves a few steps
left, then a few steps right,
uncertain,
unsure,
once again.
I have to be honest,
I don't really care if
he comes in or stays out.
I have to be honest,
I have no romantic notions
about the possibilities
of the relationship
this bird and I
are forming
or not forming
this afternoon,
which is a refreshing
feeling,
this realism
on my part,
considering
lately
everyone who steps
through the door
is screaming a reason,
or pushing a philosophy,
or crying a name for God,
or just pleading with me
to accept
the final, grand answer
to the be all, end all
of the world;
then they announce their crashing on the couch for the week.
Its been going on and on like this
for months now.
One leaves,
another comes
as if everyone is having these
apocalyptic visions,
though no one wants to admit to them,
but they're going to have them here,
right here
in this house
with me.
So
I walk in.
I walk out.
I go about my business.
I pay for my movies
in change.
And always there's another
face
with the same expression,
'Where am I going?
Where have I been?"
I go straight to my room,
try to think of something to write,
to do,
then stare at the landlord
as she waters
the lawn
and wonders
what is the purpose
of these people
living in her house.
Anyway,
there's a blue bird on my
window sill this afternoon.
It's quiet in this house,
finally,
because everyone's asleep.
The bird stares at me,
ruffles his feathers,
and then,
finally,
makes his decision
for both of us.
Los Angeles - 4/3/01
