A Flightless Bird

A cold night, stuck waiting at the bus stop, watching
cars zoom by. Under the cover of darkness, they
all look the same, and I imagine
theyre all shitty and have broken down
after they made the turn. It makes my time
spent waiting here a bit more bearable. I feel
like an ostrich cursing the other birds. I wish
I could shove my head down too, but the pavement
is concrete made so that shuts down the case.

The ostrich thinks: Well Ive bloody got wings, too.
Yet Im stuck on the ground. They dont do a thing, except
to cool myself when it's awful hot. The ostrich watches
the other birds soar through the sky, and feels
obviously jealous, but also a pang
in its chest, an aching of the heart, a slow
growing realization that the azure sky
will always be a distance away. The ostrich
had kid itself that one day its wings would stretch
and push the ground away. The ostrich had even thought itself
an albatross in its earliest days. But the years
beat in the realization that after all
the ostrich was an ostrich, never an albatross.

A cold night, stuck waiting at the bus stop, I write
poems to make myself feel different, better
than all the rest stuck here with me. I grasp
for whatever to make myself feel
superior, but each car that passes
pulls all our eyes and the same glint
of envy shows, the same sigh
of dissatisfaction leaves our throats and Im sure
were all thinking the same damn thoughts of...
Oh wait, the bus is here.

Poetry by Sameen
Read 145 times
Written on 2021-09-26 at 10:06

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Again, exploring (which you do well), the two sides of . . . schadenfreude, feeling envy and superior. Ultimately, the bus ends the revery. No stasis in this life.

I'm always glad to see you've posted a new poem.