cup, bird, bird, and mug await the fire,

a squadlet facing fate. alas, all will not survive. worse, it is the bird

with the eggs, the one on whom the highest hopes were pinned, that will suffer

decapitation.

irreparable.

.

the sculptor is philosophical. if i make another version of this one, it will be better.

then a sigh. it will not be as alive.

then a shrug. plenty of fish in the sea and on the plate. plenty of birds in the wind and in the clay.

there is a moment of silence. so long old pal.

****

Afterword: Grateful acknowledgment to Fannie Flagg, author of Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café, for the last four words of the poem above.