Jo Middleton

Biography of an ornithologist

How can it be possible
I'd like you to pretend
That we never had phone sex
While I whispered words of love
You stared at her Instagram filters
So I brought a pack of six from the shop
Stainless glass masterpieces
Decorated with roses and thorns
Cost me money and what for?
To lean over a cliff and throw them
Wasting life
Screaming into my father's voice
As the clouds rolled over
Mother was already buried
Six feet under she rolls in her grave
I think a glass shard hit a pigeon
Named him sunshine after you
Because sometimes
His eyes too look dark blue
Blacker than any clothes I own
Dressed up for my own funeral
I jumped off the cliff after him
Like how you jumped into my fist
Oh how I cradled and cradled him
Disappointment sticking out his vein
I used the same thing that killed us
To drive myself insane
Lay holding a murdered crow
Broken legs because I
Can't kill myself properly
I feel so incomplete
Why won't anyone help me
Illegally blind to the
bone in my left eye
We, as dead birds flew away into the sunrise

Comments1

  • orchidee

    Ohh what you up to? Don't phone the wrong number, whatever you do! oohhh!



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.