Perfect

“…imagine the prizes we desire
in the present” ~ D. Bonta

It begins to drizzle when we’re walking
to the car carrying bags of takeout food,

when on the sidewalk a woman in a dark,
full-length beaded dress lighting

what appears to be a blunt sings out Perfect
family!
laughing as she and her companion

weave across the street. Even as we pull
away her voice echoes in my ear; I think

of a mythical bird who waited in the high
branches of a tree— it drops a well-timed

load of shit on the head of some unsuspecting
prince passing through the woodland. In

the story, such targets turn to stone and stay
that way; the forest begins to resemble a park

populated with various ruined statues
slippered in moss. It’ll take someone else’s

courage to gather birdsong without becoming
petrified: to find the spell for restoration.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Practice makes perfect.

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