A man I know had a parrot;
an endearing bird
that would nearly crack his jaw
on the kitchen counter,
for want to talk and please.
The parrot leapt off of Joe's shoulder;
it was a flawless swan dive.
And there it was,
in a lucid vat of French fries.
I roll over and see her tremble;
it was a cold gust of sobriety.
If I was courageous I would
wake her immediately and tell her
the story of Joe's parrot.
But for want of sleep
I remain still.
She reminded me of Joe's parrot.