Bird On A Wire

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"Bird On A Wire"

by: Wes Robert Ward

Bird on a wire why won't he move? Does he have something to prove? He sits so high looking down on our humanity probably thinking that our society is complete insanity.

Crow, crow what do you know, one day it'll snow and I'll be sipping Bordeaux.

The Woodpecker nearby on the wooden telephone pole would debate, lost in his own world thinking telephone poles had tree worms which certainly confirms to no terms their brains are in their beak, quite bleak.

Yet wait who is that with the crow up on the wire so high? Is that some man reading the morning paper? Probably planning some awful money caper.

Though it's hard to admit from a certain standpoint where I see him sit that the man must be an Acrobat or so. Levitation in that elevation is hard to understand, but again he's just a strange man sitting away on a telephone line reading the morning times.

Alas, I myself, am quite flabbergasted at seeing such a spectacle as that. Even pussycats don't go that high. He's just a finely dressed man sitting in the sky.

I asked below wanting to know, "Why do you sit so high? Don't you know that you can fall down and die?"

He called down quite so, "It's the only way to read the morning paper, you know. You see the electrical current felt on my hindquarters makes reading the comics quite delightful down below. Not shockingly of course, yet it enforces an enchanting flow that would make many horses neigh and gallop away."

I nodded with somewhat understanding, knowing well of his outstanding display of his portrayal of the common pigeon. And knowing that I respected his telephonic religion.

There's an old saying\u2026 a bird on a wire is better than two birds in a bush, but all it takes is a gentle wind to give you a push."

And with that said the black crow flew away, he'll come back another day. One bird on the wire was enough. It was time to do other feathery stuff. Although on his high plateau the strange man read the bird everything, you know.

Philosophy begins with the letter P and ends with why. Democracy anywhere else may perish and die in obituaries or stock market lies, but pages one through three can always bring a small surprise.

Though nearby the Woodpecker knocked on wood. No more, no less was understood. Thunder in the distant white and lightning lit the blue and I knew what I've always known that newspapers could cover a whole skyscraper and the electrical transformer above was the ark of the covenant that we've all respected and loved.

You see, years ago I had a brain transplant and now it's abnormal, and now I only see weird paranormal. Ghosts on telephone lines and spirits reading newspapers to dirty old crows, and I finally see all I want to know.

Knock on wood on the wooden telephone pole. No longer in self-control, no longer am I whole. Now my soul is in my cereal bowl filled with Cheerios, and I suppose it goes to show what is up is sometimes down.

Yet none of us will ever be on common ground. Probably because we never truly searched for our sanity in the lost and found.

The End. \ud83d\udcf0

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