I’m sorry, Emily, you need to get Hope out of here as soon as possible. It’s wrecking our lives and our home.
We’ll have to replace the crown molding throughout the house. Hope must have thought it was a rival for our affection and pecked it to death. Or maybe she wanted more food. Did you say you don’t feed her? Well, you should.
There are feathers and bird poop everywhere. We’re all sneezing, even the dog. And that constant singing! We’re all sleep-deprived, and I may lose my job because I can’t concentrate.
Please, come this afternoon, or your bird will be the main course for dinner.
Sometimes you
have to survive
without Hope.
inspired by “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickenson:
published in Iceberg's Poetry
Comments