hey life
in the storm there was no way they could catch me.
i’d had too much practice.
i pulled the branches as i ran through the dark
and when they snapped, each and every one
caught a vulture in the face.
i didn’t really know where they’d come from,
maybe they traveled with the snow itself.
i didn’t really know if vultures traveled with blizzards,
i didn’t know much at all, really.
i’d seen them around the city
perched on street lights
hiding behind corners
but never out here.
these were my trees.
i knew them well.
they kept coming, though.
one after another. droves, i tell you.
and i kept running.
i kept tugging on branches to snap back.
the vultures kept dropping.
this went on for hours, branches began to break.
limbs were shattering, and i found it more difficult to find enough ammo
to ward them off.
the mayor,
in the morning,
he said it was the worst storm he’d ever seen
he made no mention of me.
he saw what was left.
he saw what they’d done.
he wouldn’t let them roll the footage of me.
just of trees.
please try again
---------------------------
as instructed, i looked under the cap,
but it read only “sorry! please try again.”
now i know the exclamation point is there for purposes of sincerity,
and i know the cap said please, but
i didn’t really feel i had it in me to ever try again,
for the message was staring at me
in that square font
that can only let you know you’re a real failure.
i know i’ve seen it before
i’m quite sure it’s employed on my bank statement.
on my credit card bills. your handwriting, i swear.
and it will be there,
in all it’s blocky, jagged glory
catching raindrops and scolding them as they
meander down my gravestone.
i’d had too much practice.
i pulled the branches as i ran through the dark
and when they snapped, each and every one
caught a vulture in the face.
i didn’t really know where they’d come from,
maybe they traveled with the snow itself.
i didn’t really know if vultures traveled with blizzards,
i didn’t know much at all, really.
i’d seen them around the city
perched on street lights
hiding behind corners
but never out here.
these were my trees.
i knew them well.
they kept coming, though.
one after another. droves, i tell you.
and i kept running.
i kept tugging on branches to snap back.
the vultures kept dropping.
this went on for hours, branches began to break.
limbs were shattering, and i found it more difficult to find enough ammo
to ward them off.
the mayor,
in the morning,
he said it was the worst storm he’d ever seen
he made no mention of me.
he saw what was left.
he saw what they’d done.
he wouldn’t let them roll the footage of me.
just of trees.
please try again
---------------------------
as instructed, i looked under the cap,
but it read only “sorry! please try again.”
now i know the exclamation point is there for purposes of sincerity,
and i know the cap said please, but
i didn’t really feel i had it in me to ever try again,
for the message was staring at me
in that square font
that can only let you know you’re a real failure.
i know i’ve seen it before
i’m quite sure it’s employed on my bank statement.
on my credit card bills. your handwriting, i swear.
and it will be there,
in all it’s blocky, jagged glory
catching raindrops and scolding them as they
meander down my gravestone.