Birds + Noise

The birds were all but deaf
wings outstretched headed a million
different directions
They could not arrive so they listen
involuntarily attended every holiday
heard the Packers play every Sunday
The rainbowescent sheen growing dusty
unable to shake the down
out of their coat

□ □ □ □ □

Heading Nowhere

Unable to sin quack quack
the bird bodies ascend in all directions
headed nowhere silently
glass eyes transfixed on all the corners
of the room or down, ready to dive
into the carpet pool

What sound does the duck make?
It is dead and mounted in the living room.

You cannot quack
despite my aunt asking
”what sound does the duck make"?”
you cannot flap your wingspan
and shed the coat of dust
accumulating on your oily sheen
Your journey will not complete
quiet duck, hung in our living room
happy to be attempting ascension
into a flat cream colored ceiling
We will name you and you will listen
to every breakfast, holiday, and wake
held here in the house