Dirt Bird / Ugly Tanka

Dirt Bird / Ugly Tanka

Greasy feathers, no
amount of preening shakes this
city off. Here in
the muck puddle of parking
lot, I shudder. My brown, cloaked

in gray, my beak a
dusty choke. The tree breathing
literally gives
me flight, and in the air, I
hope the filth will roll off, I

hope the dreck will stop
clogging this sweet wicking and
let me be. I look
about. I sniff the world as
I sense it. I don't know I

don't know it beyond
this blacktop, its reflecting
back my own small heat.