chimrules

To dained for a "this is my state of being" post.
Here's a shitty poem I just wrote

Across the street
a robin holds
the sky in place
with the beating
of its wings.

It's probably singing,
but I can't hear the song
through the apartment
window.

Not that it matters.
The muffled thumps and scrapes
of your U-Haul boxes
hold my ears in captivity
today.

I lose sight of the bird
when the jerky calisthenics
of boyhood cruelty tug
at the corner of my eye.

Two boys. Twelve, maybe 13
years old? Hopping, pointing,
rubbing their hands
in the not-quite-spring chill,
arguing gleefully over which hoodlum
will take on the boasts and shame
of using the bb gun they toss back
and forth.

I don't hear the pop
as the weaker-willed
boy pulls the trigger
or the heart attack
screech of the robin
when its flight plan
is torn to shreds.

The bird spirals
towards the asphalt
the way I imagine
you fell out of love.

The wings twitch.
The robin's head jerks
like a bad camera effect,
aching to find its sky.
The blood stains the pavement
a shade darker than tar.

Do you really think
you can make without me?

I look away from the murdered
songbird just in time
to see the front door
click shut in perfect
time with your shoes
falling on the doormat,
and I realize you're
no bird. You are the sky,
which, despite my expectations,
is holding itself above me
without the robin's help.

I think I'll run across the street
and show those boys how to steady
their aim more effectively.
There are some things you never
grow out of.