My Fine, Feathered Corpse

by Adrian C. Louis

I flapped my wings, hoping
to rise & not take a nosedive.
I was old & grieving but still
driven by the need for nooky.
I tried to tell her it was bad
karma, not cancer eating
out the marrow of my soul
& that cause & effect made
screech songs whistle down
my pipe bones & cease all
sweetness of any conjured
summer’s wind.  Hey, I was
grieving & so far from home
& needed a heart or a hearty
hump & got neither, got
told I was too old for her.

In this dry dying
of American night,
an old eagle fell when
it flew past her house.
If you venture her street,
please don’t tread upon
my fine, feathered corpse.