THE BARGAIN
At three weeks old my owl chick was on the brink of death
And so my bargains with the Universe began.
If there was a choice between the sale of a house not collapsing
And the bird surviving, then
I’d choose the breath of feathers and remarket immediately.
If there was a choice between the overdue exit of a tenant
Unpaid for long beyond tenure,
And the bird surviving, then
I’d choose the fledgling’s life and go to court.
If there was a choice between the rebuild of my computer
Three weeks in the making and with me, still waiting,
And the bird surviving, then
I’d choose the life of the chick and a notebook and pen.
If there was a choice between fixing the fridge freezer
I’d waited a week for in the midst of a heatwave,
And the bird surviving, then
I’d let the meat rot, and the milk go off again.
And so, I learned the unimportance of what does not matter.
Frankie steps forward to the edge of the table and takes his first dive
With rubber wings that already itch for the sky.
