BEATNIK: A Poetry Collection

robins in passing

I always used

to think that

red robins were

immortal, you know?

I used to

think they were

majestic, untamable,

and wise.

then one day

I was walking

down this side

street and out

the corner of

my eye I

saw one lying

there, dead in

the sand for

maybe an hour.

its beautiful red

feathers hadn't faded

in color and

it was the

closest I had

ever gotten to

a robin to

appreciate how orange

its beak was.

best I could

figure it the

little guy had

gotten hit by

a car and

went flying on

impact.

I remember always

seeing birds dive

in front of

cars right before

they race by

and thinking these

daredevil avians must

sit on the

sidewalks, betting one

another worms and

seeds that they

could fly across

the road without

getting hit.

maybe this robin

was one of those.

I bowed my

head to the

carcass and kept

on walking.

five minutes later

I happened upon

the freshly deceased

remains of an

American robin.

its feet were

scrunched up as

if it was

clawing out to

reach something in

its final moments.

its colors were

darker than that

of the red

robin, and in

regards to its

passing I have

to say, I

didn't care as

much.