Feather

The feather in the parking lot
was quite splendid, headdress size
almost. I might have picked it up
thirty years ago, an accidental
treasure to share, make a child’s
eyes get big. But today, with no
one to share with and all my
horizontal surfaces already
cluttered with things I don’t
need or use, my thoughts ran
to bird flu and tiny parasites.

Not crazy about this age
where caution outweighs wonder
and necessity takes precedence,
so in homage to the person
I used to be I went back
for the feather, but it was
gone, perhaps in the fist of
a child or floating on a breeze.
Another lesson learned.

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