Birdshit (1)

Of all the Godots

there is only one

who is famous

for hanging himself

in the back of Queen Mab’s closet

and later in Camus’ garage.

But instead of laughing

at his antic we became

mad with wondering why

was he even there

wearing that disguise? 

Birdshit (2)

When I open up

my fad sing-hole

I am the drift

disguised as a given

tried to pry out

the malfunctioning organ.

Is it black?

Is it coffin?

Is it a Mab screeched

against the murderous plains?

Nope. Don’t brake for no dames.

When instead I’m opened up

my fad sing-hole I forget to have

my grocery list my grocery list

I still have to graffiti it w that Monday

I missed him (when?)

like this: a mad Camus laugh

gets stabbed in

the way I see myself.

What if I could speak the missing earring

like a bird shits? What if a world is an angle

with no wings? Just a scene closed up close

just all close upped? What if

just a question

maked up enough for when

I open a bathroom sink-hole up

with another mirage again?

Laurie Welch earned an MFA in Poetry from the University of Nebraska at Omaha. Her poems have appeared in Sugar House Review, The LA Review, Forklift, Ohio, and others. She is currently working on her first full-length manuscript, BIRDSHIT, which explores the notion: If a bird is a symbol of the soul, then what is the meaning of its shit?

photo: Alison Scarpulla