Carson Wolfe
ELEGY FOR THE BIRDS
Kasey put her budgie in a shoebox and shook
until the tweeting stopped. She grins,
knowing this confession will impress the boys.
I feel a lump of beak in my throat for the bird,
which could be the bomb of MDMA scratching
my oesophagus, or, that it lived its short life
in a cage, that it ended alone in a box.
I want to smash my glass in Kasey’s face
but don’t want to be the shard puncturing
the mood. Who am I to judge when I pointed
a gun and killed two birds with one bullet
because my boyfriend told me to. Who am I,
stood in the kitchen, laughing.