death of a little birdA Poem by delapruchna.outside the picture window which provided pleasure to the aging couple whose days of raising their own children were long gone in the past, a mother blue jay had two babies & the couple watched the whole thing emerge, for the nest had been built in the lilac tree which had been planted years ago right beneath the window.
one day, the red squirrel, whom the family dog had been chasing for such a long time, the two had become something of a morning novelty, had climbed up the tree & killed one of the babies while its mother wasn’t home.
when the couple discovered that the baby had been killed, as some remnants were left which could be seen from the window, they were quite distraught to say the least & the death of the little bird kept them up late at night for the next few nights.
while the old woman pleaded with “god,” proclaiming “why! why! why!” when she got up in the middle of the night, as if one of her own children had died, the old man told her that it had been evolution which dealt with the matter--- mother bird had not built the nest high enough, and so the red squirrel had been able to get at the new babies.
the old woman pleaded with her husband, saying that red squirrels didn’t even eat meat! & the old man said that they did, she just hadn’t seen them, or perhaps the squirrel just never got so lucky--- “they got to get their protein somewhere,” he said, then she went on saying that the squirrel could get that from nuts & so it went on & on.
after a few days went by the large rat traps in the garage coupled with the large wads of peanut butter used by the old man to lure in the squirrel, did in fact succeed in killing it & the old woman then felt justified.
‘“god” wanted him dead,” she said & the old man, carrying the trap with the squirrel’s neck broken & bloody, ready to hurl the whole thing in the woods remarked with a smile, “no--- evolution dealt with the matter.”
© 2012 delapruch |
Stats
41 Views
Added on June 30, 2012 Last Updated on June 30, 2012 Authordelapruchnothingville, NYAboutBio: The writer we call delapruch has been writing since infancy. His first piece was scrawled on the inside of his mother’s womb. Long since published, the rights now reside in the hands o.. more..Writing
|