Perch

Cold soda on the basement stairs
where the ground is like a mountain side
and the water heater sings
about the table saw.
Peppered jerky in a plastic bag,
a drawer with only knives in it,
all under bats that sleep like cats,
up just two ceilings.
A red satellite like a higher kite,
we aren’t connected to,
but could be if we wanted to.
Mercury movement in the center
of my eye makes me consider
all the unintended consequences.
From underground apartments
we walk up stairs to see the sunlight,
past the brick wall out the window,
to the street where things
pass by us all the time.
We take notice of the important things,
like that bird out in the distance,
and before I can, she states it’s perfect name.
An eagle picks scraps out of its talons
while it grips onto a billboard
by the highway; thinking about
flying, killing, and her feathers
so much darker than his own.

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