a poem in my pocket

grass grows like mad in may

failing to see his brother, i

commit murder with mower.

ashamed…i finish lawn only

to flee indoors from grieving

parents frantically hopping…

hoping a better future for this

adolescent on the edge of life

and flight training; he chirps

mournfully, poops on the deck

railing…still reeling, he flies low

to refuge under lilac’s shadow…

i pray the cats don’t find him.