There was a bird
In my bathroom,
It came in through the ceiling
In through a hole,
Left by the rain.
The first day,
I was mean.
Left the fan on,
Left the light on,
Hoping he would leave;
Like he could.
The first night,
I listened to flurrying,
Back and forth,
Back and forth,
Above my toothpaste;
He tore at the door,
Desperate to get out.
The second day,
I awoke exhausted,
I wanted to kill him,
I wanted the flurry to stop.
The second night,
I opened the windows and doors,
And waited.
In and around
And around,
And around,
He flew.
On chairs and pictures,
He tried to figure it out,
For what seemed like hours,
I chased him around,
And around and around he flew.
Admittedly in anger,
I came at him
With a large winter coat,
And like a barrier,
It forced him to freedom.
Instead of murder,
I had saved him.
Experiences,
Are the fabric;
But it's the choices that count,
The decisions that matter.
Even for the birds
In the bathroom.
Sandra Osborne
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birds-in-the-bathroom/
