by Roma Joshi
Missing in action is not me, has never been.
I fly. You see me.
You tell your grandson or whoever,
You’d want to be reborn as a Me.
My only question to you, you lowlife is “Why?”
How convenient. How corny.
Oh, a bird!
How simple. How easy.
Yeah, you think?
I am not exactly a cynic. Not even half a cynic as you.
But, something’s amiss for sure.
I miss inaction.
Not that I have ever experienced it!
Hovering, fluttering for as long as I can recall.
Call it fresh air, if that pleases you.
Behind boring blue bars of dull night sky.
Not freedom for sure.
Freedom is overrated anyways.
On the “run” all the time.
From nothing, from everything, from predators
And others like me.
I’m afraid of the dark.
What’s more, I’m scared of heights.
Have a bad case of motion sickness too.
What? It’s not impossible for a bird to be?
How would you know?
I want to sit in a rocking chair. Sip wine.
Stare at the ceiling.
Live sans these stinging wings.
Shoot an insignificant bird in the forest
with my camera, of course.
But for now,
This nighttime, this lifetime,
You can shoot me.
For I want to be reborn as a You.
I’m missing inaction.
Not with you camera, of course.