A grievance to grief

 Waiting in the wind,

Grill’d sign above, animated

with the fleeting tweets

of darting sparrows,

as leaves in a whirlwind

of their own

//

Everywhere, they’re Alfred Hitchcock’s

birds, a nefarious syndicate

The nose scrunches at these,

flecks of capricious dirtiness

//

Lodged a complaint

a sighing whine to A.

Obliviously scrolling, he notices

the sparrows

for the first time, and

recalls…

//

 Having seen two birds

one flat, 2D

on the road —

Had Picasso painted a bird.

//

The other flitting, fretting

back and forth, pulsating,

between its citadel above

and cars

further compressing its friend

into the tar.

// 

It was:

checking,

car -

waiting,

car -

Get Up!

car,

pleading…

//

because a bird receives

no succour in distress, but

instead dances an incessant choreography

of coming to terms,

of love lost,

of grief.

//

Now, Hitchcock’s sparrows

disfigured through tears,

their animistic souls reinstated

somewhat,

mine too.

//

A grievance

to grief.