She Never Sings For Me

I own a bird.  She is beautiful and sweet.  Red and rare.  But my bird, she never sings for me.

I remember the day I bought her.  I went into the store searching for something.  One too many lonely nights left me watching infomercials.  Something about a pet that could get you on your feet.  I couldn’t ever own something as frantic as a hamster or as arbitrary as a fish.  No, I needed something, something for me.  I heard a soft sound.  Stopping, I looked around.  Yelled at the shop keep, “Hey what’s that?”  He fidgeted and said, “oh her, that’s my ruby red.  Oh, how she can sing”.  Is that so I thought.  Well then she ought to be bought.  So I did.  I bought her.  Just to hear her sing.

I bought a cage, some seed, and a bell.  A stage for her to sit while I would plead and yell.  Hoping, to hear her sing.  The first day I was not surprised.  It was all new for her; In fact, she should not be expected to sing.  A couple days past, weeks, then months.  How long could it last?  How long till she would sing.  I would invite people over, and my friends they would say “Oh, what a beautiful bird”, “Such vibrant wings”, and “Imagine owning such a valuable thing”.  Little do they know, all the paranoia that she can bring.

I stop.

I breathe.

I take a drink.

Sigh, and wink.  Thinking sure, but she doesn’t sing.

After they leave, briefly I grieve, but then madness takes over me.  Why?!  Why won’t she sing?!  Not for neglect.  Or lack of respect.  I cannot find out why, but my bird, she never sings for me.  That night I feigned sleep.

Not making a peep.  Hoping to hear the ring

That night to be sure, I heard my bird sing.  Rejoicing I thought, It must just be some condition, some fright of nerves, or some embarrassing position; and then I thought, no.  It must be me.

But why.  What had I done?  What had I not done?  Why?  Why had she done this?  Why that little odious ball of feathers!  She must hate me!  She must be doing it to spite me!

And for no reason either.  I fed her, loved her, gave her all that ever she would need.  Stopping I decided.  I planned to return her spite.  Then she would plead.  Then she would sing.  I stopped feeding her.  Stopped watering her.  Stopped loving her.  At the end of the week I could see that she was wearing.  Her dark little heart was tearing.  Soon she would surrender!  Soon she would see!  Soon.  She would sing.  For me.  I decided to send out an olive branch to my little dove.  My precious sparrow.  My cardinal queen.

I opened her cage, to let her out with me.  Quickly she flew.  High.  High up above.  I chilled in my marrow.  I decided to get mean.  Swinging with rage, I flung at her.  Now , Now, don’t you see?  Aiming at her body, I launched a candle across the room, but I was too caught up to worry.  To enflamed to see.  The room went ruby red.  A drape.  A little red drape.  Had caught fire.  Setting the whole place a blaze.  I decided to sit down.  To rest my worried head.  Smoke rises like a song they say.  My head in my hands, I heard a familiar ring.  Up through the smoke, out through the window,  looking through at me.  My bird, leaving, decided to sing.


4 responses to “She Never Sings For Me

  1. Sometimes you remind me of a less vulgar Bukowski.

  2. I save my vulgar work for the church.

  3. So, what did you think? Good, bad, ugly?

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