Birthright

I watch time lapses of water carving out
rock formations over several decades,
and when they’re over I will switch
to simple towers being built for several months.
I hold the gun she gave me up to the light
and get a feeling for the sights
then give it back and tell her it is something special.

I watch the tree across the street slowly die
a little more with everyday, and in a way,
I’m sure it does the same to me.
The dogs bark through the chain link
and their eyes poke through the diamonds
like they were put there with a purpose
just for this.

There is a machete embedded in a telephone pole
and while I wait for the light to change
I try to pull it from the place that holds it back.
The pigeons on the wire were fat and I threw chips
at them on my lunch break sitting on a bench made
out of concrete and a dozen people’s names.

I get home before her and when she walks in
I am sitting at the kitchen table looking
at the machete that I have plunged
into the center. She asks me where I got it,
and I tell her I withdrew it from a pole.
She says it must have been my birthright,
and as a joke I bet that it could beat her gun.