Bird Flu

Pain droops my shoulders, tension they said
Pushes my back, stress I assume
Wraps the hips tight, from the endless travels they surmise
A dull heaviness on my chest
Not from consumed cigarettes, that much I am sure.
I enter the meeting room.
Air conditioned cold froze my warmth
unwelcome, wary glances collide with my angry stare.
Like parrots they squawk
and pick at everything.
Too complicated
Too simple
Too loud
Too soft
Too strict
Too lax
Too strong
Too mild
Too caring
Didn’t care too much
Enough!
From the gut
It hurls itself
In your face
The farce explodes.
Fuck farce.
I am too tired.
And I hate parrots.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Artwork by Diru
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