When the rarest bird hath flown the coup, I found myself in the graveyard, 2 blocks east of Sixth Street. It had happened before and I had a thought. Had the bird not flown, he would be imprisoned.
A courageous flight, straight arrow to Albuquerque, no exits on this flight, no stopovers. There will be no in-flight movie this evening, a voice announced, and we won't be offering you any refreshments on this flight. So a straight and narrow path.
I peddled insanity in those days. A youthful notion of truth and reality, bubble gum and masking tape holding the fort. I scratched my foot into the dirt before a stone that read "Here lies our beloved.." I spat my gum into the little hole I had dug and quickly kicked up the brown morsels and rocks over it. I could see a couple in the nearby distance holding a cold gaze in my direction. I had desecrated this site with my lack of respect. The birds were vultures now and I the moving carcass.
If the bird had not flown, he would be imprisoned. I tried to tell the couple, but they ran, terrified, repenting, tightly cutting the corner and clamoring away from Sixth Street. I held off on the couple and headed back to the stone. It's a straight shot to Albuquerque I said to myself, a straight and narrow path. Had the bird choice, would he have flown the coup? Freedom or sleep? I laid down in front of the stone and closed my eyes.
Its a long road to Albuquerque.
4 comments:
when in Albuquerque, make sure to go left, Doc.
you realize what's really happening here?
what's really happening where...in Albuquerque?
the narrator is in a graveyard, he causes panic to some onlookers, when approached, they run. the narrator decides what to do next, the choice the narrator makes tells you who the narrator is, ostensibly anyway. metaphorically its what you make of it.
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