Poem: Instead of Wings

XWatching birds fly and regretting that we have hands instead of wings . . . but then . . .

Instead of Wings All of life’s a trade-off and we’re given hands instead of wings So here I sit in mornings, picking the coffee cup up from the floor next to my chair and watching pigeons fly Putting off for the time being the flipping of switches where these fingered words light the screen in lines across a page Word by struggled word They sometimes fly, but most times flutter They flap and glide, drop like stones across my cluttered sky, these feathered instruments flocked in sentences And should they see me here as I gaze upon them there A tilted wing is all I ask, until the day I ask for more

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.