I Wish Birds Had Moral Compasses-
Matthew Hedrick
Between the buildings wires run
Spider webbing across the block
On those wires birds sit watching the streets
Like little feathered angels
Hanging by them are tennis shoes from the 90’s
They used to be bright purple and blue
Now you can only make out the colors if you really look
Because like the people bellow the elements have muted them
Those people walk the streets
Moving out of the way of a couch laying out in the street
An old couch so worn you can barely tell it was once beautiful
Like the old woman who had it in her home
Until her kids put her in a facility that approximated one
So, now the couch is in the ally
A homeless man had been sleeping on it
Until the man had coffee thrown in his face
All he was doing was sleeping there
The cup was bought right across the street
Still almost boiling
Steam pouring out like an old smokestack
When the coffee hit his face the man woke up screaming
Before his vision unblurred the thrower had ran like a coward
Leaving the still steaming cup on the ground
That steam floated up towards the sky
Up to the birds who watch like feathered angels
I imagine that they followed the thrower
Then told all the other feathered angels what had happened
Filled them with righteous anger
Leading them to enact something resembling justice
Chirping in their windows before sunrise
Shitting on all their clothes as they walk to work
I imagine that it is a permanent affliction
Like the burns on that man’s face
The man who was just sleeping
But I know that did not happen
Like all the people on the street that morning
All the birds just watched
Matthew Hedrick
Between the buildings wires run
Spider webbing across the block
On those wires birds sit watching the streets
Like little feathered angels
Hanging by them are tennis shoes from the 90’s
They used to be bright purple and blue
Now you can only make out the colors if you really look
Because like the people bellow the elements have muted them
Those people walk the streets
Moving out of the way of a couch laying out in the street
An old couch so worn you can barely tell it was once beautiful
Like the old woman who had it in her home
Until her kids put her in a facility that approximated one
So, now the couch is in the ally
A homeless man had been sleeping on it
Until the man had coffee thrown in his face
All he was doing was sleeping there
The cup was bought right across the street
Still almost boiling
Steam pouring out like an old smokestack
When the coffee hit his face the man woke up screaming
Before his vision unblurred the thrower had ran like a coward
Leaving the still steaming cup on the ground
That steam floated up towards the sky
Up to the birds who watch like feathered angels
I imagine that they followed the thrower
Then told all the other feathered angels what had happened
Filled them with righteous anger
Leading them to enact something resembling justice
Chirping in their windows before sunrise
Shitting on all their clothes as they walk to work
I imagine that it is a permanent affliction
Like the burns on that man’s face
The man who was just sleeping
But I know that did not happen
Like all the people on the street that morning
All the birds just watched