There Was An Old Woman Who Didn’t Know Something Had Changed

 There was an old woman

Who didn’t know

Something had changed

She woke up one morning

And she couldn’t tell

What it was

She made her breakfast

The same breakfast

She had made for herself

Every day

She ate the breakfast

She said ‘Hello’

To her mailwoman

And her neighbor

Getting his newspaper

And the lady walking her dog

None of it is any different

Than any other morning

In her life

But she feels different

And she doesn’t want to tell herself

That nothing is different

So she decides

To try

And find

What’s different

She gets on her bike

And rides it to a nearby park

Where she gets on a slide

And slides down it

Only to find herself

In the middle of seven squirrels

Who had not been expecting

To find an old woman

Coming down a slide

In the park

These squirrels picked up

The old woman

And brought her into the forest

Next to the park

They set her down

In front of a brown bear

Who asked her

What she was doing

Going down slides

On a day where most people

Are working

Or reading their newspaper

In their kitchens

Or their living rooms

The old woman told the bear

How she had woken up

Feeling that something was different

But she didn’t know what

And she decided to try

And find out

Where that feeling was coming from

The brown bear laughed

And told the old woman

That certainly she had found the difference

What with being carried off by squirrels

And meeting a talking bear

But the old woman felt

That things weren’t quite different enough

Even with all that had happened so far

The brown bear invited the old woman

To climb onto his back

And he took her deeper into the forest

Then to the other side of it

Where there was a beautiful beach

And on the beach

Was a ship

And the old woman
Climbed onto the ship

And sailed it

For days

And then weeks

And then months

Traveling all over the world

To different countries

Meeting different people

Until finally

After almost a year

She returned to the beach

Then the forest

Then the park

Then the slide

Then to her home

She never felt as though
She found that different feeling

That she felt the day she woke up

And decided that she couldn’t do
What she had always done

Every other day

But she had many adventures

And now, what had felt the same before

Now felt very different

Having been away from it all

For so long

She went to bed

And wondered how she would feel

When she woke up

The next day

Maybe she would feel different

Or maybe she would feel

A different feeling

That was the exciting thing

About drifting off every night

You never knew

What you’d be chasing after

Tomorrow

What to Do When the Cockatoo Could Be Telling the Truth

 The cockatoo is telling me

That I could be murdered soon

He’s saying

There’s a murderer

In the house

Now, he’s a relatively new cockatoo

And truthfully

I didn’t even know

If cockatoos could speak

When I got him

Are they like parrots?

Or is this a magical cockatoo

Who has the ability to tell

When there’s a killer nearby?

I don’t know

I called the pet store

They told me

Maybe I should just leave the house

And call the police

But the whole thing

Could just be something

The cockatoo’s previous owner

Taught him to say

As a joke or something

That being said, I did notice

Bloody footprints

Going in and out

Of my basement

And several chocolate bars missing

From the candy drawer

The cockatoo was squawking

Every night

About this supposed murderer

But every night

I’d put my earplugs in

And go to bed

And every morning

I’d wake up

Not murdered

So I sort of assumed

That either this was

Poorly learned behavior

Or you just can’t trust

A cockatoo

But then my girlfriend tells me

That sometimes murderers

Hide out in your house

For weeks

Before they kill you

And that I shouldn’t assume

I’m safe just yet

Except now

The cockatoo has gotten

Pretty quiet

And I’m wondering

If it saw the murderer leaving

Or if it just got sick of me

Ignoring its warnings

I stand near its cage

And ask it

To repeat the word ‘murderer’

Deciding that if it does

I will pack up my things

And leave

In a day or two

But the cockatoo

Says nothing to me

Only pecking at its birdseed

And whispering

What sounds like ‘Too late now’

But that could be

My imagination

Without hard data

And with no further input

From my pet

I can’t justify

Uprooting my entire life

At this moment

Yes, there are more and more

Bloody footprints

Popping up all over the house

And some handprints

Yes, several of my knives

Have gone missing

And I’m now getting ominous notes

Telling me that quote-- ‘I’m next’

But it doesn’t say next for what

So I’m trying not to read

Too much into it

Who could be leaving me

These notes?

I mean, I leave my doors unlocked

And my windows open

All day and night

So who knows

Who’s been coming in and out

And whether any of them

Are planning to murder me

Believe it or not,

I aggravate a lot of people

But to the point of murder?

I don’t know about that

I just wish that I could somehow

Label my candy drawer

As off-limits

In all of this

Death is one thing

But a man should be allowed

The guarantee of candy

I don’t think

That’s too much

To ask

Do you?

What the Window Washer Saw

 The window washer

Saw a man at his desk

With his tie off

Holding a revolver

He wasn’t scheduled

To clean that window

On that day

So he saw what he saw

In passing

Some men hold revolves

He told himself

It doesn’t mean anything

Something about being

In that position

Up so high

Even when you get used to it

You never get over

The feeling of vulnerability

And that’s what keeps you

Good at your job

Never forgetting

That it is not dangerous

Provided you’re safe

But that even the safest people

Have moments

Where they forget

Where they make a mistake

Just like how holding a gun

Can be safe

Until it’s not

Until you forget something

Until you forget it’s a gun

The window washer

Doesn’t take his phone

Up with him on the job

Because if you do

And you get caught

You’re written up

He’d have to go down

To report the man

And what floor was that?

What suite?

What would he say?

That there’s a man

Sitting in his office

Holding a gun?

Did the man look upset?

No

Did the man have the gun

Pointed at himself?

No

Can you even say exactly

That you saw

What you think you saw?

Not really

You see all kinds of things

And you see them

The way you see

Those old movies

That would roll by

On paper

Telling one

Never-stopping story

The man was sitting

Next to his desk

But away from it

His legs stretched out

The gun sitting in his lap

Like something he found

Like something he was interested in

But unfamiliar with

The window washer

Knows that if she stops working

To report this

And nothing comes of it

His boss won’t be happy

And he still needs to ask

For that vacation

Next month

He’s a good worker

Never a problem

But his boss has a low tolerance

Even for good workers

Even for the best

One guy had a heart attack

While working

And the boss griped about

How far it set them back

For weeks

It’s just windows

It’s just windows with some dirt on them

How much does the dirt

Bother the people

On the inside

Looking out

Do they even think about it?

Do they even notice

When it’s gone?

He finishes the day

And when he’s done

He asks his boss

If there’s been any news

Anything exciting

Going on

In the building

‘You think I know

What goes on

Inside there,’

His boss asks him

The window washer

Looks down at his hands

Red, from holding on so tight

His whole shift

Not even realizing

He was doing it

‘No,’ he says,

‘I guess you wouldn’t’

A Tern in the Sun

 A tern flies low

When it nears

The beach

Not to find food

But because there’s a height

Close to where

The water runs in

Where the tern can hear a sound

That reminds her

Of her younger times

When she would go up and down the shore

As rocks fell from cliffs

And the houses set far

From the waves

Began an introduction to them

The tern doesn’t travel

As far she used to

But her flights delight her more now

And she finds herself

Letting the wind keep her aloft

For longer and longer

Before she’s ready to land

Were it not for her appetite

She might not come down at all

There will not be any rearing for her

As she was never interested

In partnering

Beyond those few years

With her counterpart

Whose company was all soft rain

And leaves to guard from it

One day she went to seek out food

And when she got back

The home she had made

With her love

Had been stomped on

Destroyed

By man or animal

Who knows?

And her love was gone

Perhaps escaped

Hopefully nothing worse

She left quickly

And never went back

Now when she flies

She’d rather not come down

But the wind isn’t always kind

To those who love the air

Nothing can stay up forever

And the sun feels warmer

Than it used to

When the heat hits her back

She likes feeling

The scorch of it

Not because it’s painful

But because it reminds her

That she’s only being gifted

Her time in the air

The tern sees what looks like

A shining stone

In the sand

And dives to get a closer look

As she gets closer

She sees that the stone

Isn’t a stone at all

But a small pool of water

In the middle of the sand

She doesn’t understand

How it could be

The sun beating so bright

And the sand so warm

And yet here it was

A small pool of water

With a coin of light in it

Catching the attention

Of a tern flying

So high above it

This part of the beach is quiet

Just one or two people of the land

Sitting by themselves

On their towels

Reading their books

And eating their sandwiches

No children

No dogs

Nobody looking at this miniature pool

But the tern

The day is telling itself a story

So that it can fall asleep

And the let the night

Fall along the beach

Soon the tern

Will have to sleep as well

Night flying becoming

Too dangerous

As she ages

She’ll live longer

Than most other birds

But that means living in a way

That others like her

Never have to navigate

Before she takes off again

To find shelter in the dark

She’ll peer into the water

And try to see herself in it

The water is too small

To reflect the tern

Back at herself

But she tries

She tries to find

An image

She can recognize

In a place

That shouldn’t exist

At all