This Poem was Submitted By: lonnie hicks On Date: 2002-11-19 16:30:51 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Robin Suicide

A robin committed suicide today flew right into my window it's now chilly mid-November; maybe he was heading south. Blam! The sound, and wings blurred, he went straight down to the ground. No way he could have missed the house, it's large, the window is below the roof he was not playing with other birds, or forgot to look. Like a jet without a single flap down, he hit the window full-throttle. I got up and took a look expecting him to stir and fly but he didn't move below; lying quiet. After a time I went down to see. Yes a Robin, older, red breast. He/She didn't stir, didn't move. I touched him. Neck awry. Probably broken. Probably instant death. Well what to do? I looked around for mourners. There were none. This robin was solo, all on his own. It didn't seem fitting to conduct a garbage can burial, so I said a few words, cursed, and decided to bury him in dirt. It was easy. Picked him up by his tail took him to the back yard; had some compost there. Dug a shallow grave, mumbled something, lay him down in there; patted the top; my good deed done. A dead robin in my yard, flying south by my window dead; undone. But, I am thinking maybe he did it deliberately. There were some clues. How can a robin miss a great big house, hit the pane, drop down dead, there must some explanation some hidden clue I'd missed. Maybe he was an old robin, diseased, disoriented by Alzheimer's, bird pestilence, chemicals or what. Could have been a bird fight of some kind:  he was fleeing, running away, defeated. The Crows around here are criminals and tough; the Robin would have lost in a West Side Story bird fight. I decided to go outside and look up to see for myself look for clues to the robins' death not content for the time being to dismiss it lightly as a dumb bird lost. So... from Robin's height my window pane looks straight on through the house, out past the back windows and on into the yard. Ah ha; the robin's keen eyes could have been looking at my backyard trees, flying hard and straight, not seeing the first window pane. Blam and there you are-- an explanation which made some sense but having there,too, a painful irony within. His grave lay beneath those trees he was so intent to reach. Dead robin was flying fast, gaze fixed upon his own death. How Shakespearean. I think final destination, as in where we will die: inside hospitals, on the road, in a plane for most of us is unknown. My robin could see his own demise but the means to him were clear and unclear; my window, transparent. Ah, again how Shakespearian. And to think Nature stood by; no flags raised, A Robin causality;

Copyright © November 2002 lonnie hicks

Additional Notes:
This poem is not intended to disparage robins, older robins, crows, Shakespeare, Nature, animate or inanimate objects of any. Moreover, any popular disease I have unintentionally harmed is hereby granted my blanket apology.


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