Birds In The Bathroom

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.

by Sandra Osborne

Comments (4)

The life you save may be your own...loved this because it has happened to me...frustrating when you want to save them but they don't speak your language...there's more layers here than just 'a bird in the bathroom'...Coach
Oh the frustration of a trapped animal in the house. I'm like you. I could never kill it. I even have trouble killing a fly.! Love you poem.
Agree. A good effort.
You are right to offer praise for yourself in this. Very good. H