(Another rainy day.  It makes for very easy writing.  I think the flow of water helps the flow of thought, or whatever analogy works.  Day 286…)

Hold your breath when a black bird flies.  Count to seventeen and close your eyes…

I don’t want anyone near me.
I’ve worked too hard on my growth
Turning manure into crops of food
For organic consumption
Because processed nutrients
They say
Are bad for you

So I created this facade of a man
Designed to fend off birds from picking and nibbling
Bits and pieces
Trying to feed off my hard work.

But what do I do
When the distraction doesn’t work?
What do I do when the distraction doesn’t work
And I’m shooing them away with my hands?
My ranting and raving
Attracts a different types of blackbirds
Ones that constantly pester my heart
Like raps on a chamber door
Or ones that carry ex-men inside them
So when I see them flying overhead
I know danger is nearby.

What if my front works really well?
Too well?
And it puts fright in more than just crows?
And I’ve made that scarecrow so close to my own image
That I appear to be magic
That I appear to be God
And therefore only admired from afar?
Does He get lonely, too?
Seeing the hard work He’s done to maintain greatness
Would He rather someone attempt to take a bite of it against His Will?
Has the image of Him that He instilled
Become accepted as more real
Than even He is?

Maybe a bird or two won’t hurt anything
I’ll still be able to grow
And know
That I have something worth having