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24 hours is a long time

Stephen Daniels

Walking through a crowded town centre
in May, I saw a bird lying by the roadside.
Its body was still, but its beak opened

and closed, rhythmically. It lifted its head, asking
for help. On close inspection it was clear this bird
had a broken left wing. It moved freely,

but it’s integrity was questionable.
Bizarrely, the bird’s right wing
was completely separated from its body.

The left wing feathers had abandoned the bird
and were strewn across the severed right.
As though claiming they belonged to it.

To me, it was clear these were left wing feathers.
Being a man of principles and not wanting
too much fuss. I placed the bird back down

on the curb, hoping that the right wing
might re-attach itself. Develop a conscience
for the now useless form it was leaving behind,

or that the left wing feathers would realise their errors
and re-join their wing, but neither happened.
I spent the morning watching the left wing feathers

climb all over the right, only to be pushed off.
That afternoon, other bird’s wings
made their way towards the bird.

With their foreign feathers and exotic structures
they tried to attach themselves. They wanted to help.
The bird shook furiously and refused them.

That evening the bird died. The wings lived on,
the right wing took over, flapping away
at any that came near the bird.

The left wing occasionally twitched
but without support, took to watching.
Overnight the bird began to decay and rot.

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