I am an eagle
in the morning,
soaring over mountain
ranges, ruling the heavens.
I will represent nations.
I will not acquiesce
to the lessers, I refuse
to be shot down
as I fly. Or maybe
I am the last struggler
in a line of geese
grateful for
the aerodynamics
of my brothers.
Could I be an ostrich?
Tall and dumb
and disproportionate
to my tasks? And oh,
Christ, that giant
belly! That tiny head!
Or maybe I am a turkey,
as we used to say, a word nerd,
a wallflower
refusing to bloom.
Or maybe I am a chicken
about to be dressed
and served on someone's plate.
A chicken, longing for
something other than your
grocer's freezer.
Dreaming of the leg, breast,
and thigh, yet
too afraid to spread
his wings.
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