I’d Like To Try Again As A Baby Bird

I wish I was a baby bird. Really, I wish I was a baby bird. Because when was the last time you saw a baby bird in a suit and tie, or a baby bird in steel-toe boots? I mean, can you even imagine?

And even if steel-toe boots were made to fit baby bird feet, they’d still be too heavy. Baby birds are small. They could never make steel-toe boots light enough.

I wish I was a baby bird. Instead I am an old man, worn out. I was alright a few years ago. Now I am just tired.

I wish I was a baby bird instead. I would be so full of energy, so lovable. So tiny and cherishable. Everyday my meals would be airlifted to me. I wouldn’t even have to chew. Simply, my food would be shot down my mouth.

Then all day someone would sit on me and make sure I was warm and as I grew stronger I’d do my best to stretch my baby bird wings. And it would be so adorable. Everyone would love me for just trying my best.

If only I were baby bird, never would I worry. Never would I have a baby bird phone to check. Because what can one baby bird text to another baby bird…cheep-cheep, cheep cheep?

I wish I didn’t have a phone, like a baby bird. I wish I didn’t have bills, like a baby bird. I wish I never thought about how many social media followers I had, like a baby bird.

Oh, what kind of life would I live as a baby bird. I would fly. Oh, I’d fly. What else does one dream of, if not to fly?

As a baby bird I soar. Over buildings full of people I no longer need to impress with anecdotes of travel to South American countries. I fly to South America whenever I please, and I don’t brag. Soaring even higher still, I gain joy simply from the act.

And when I finally decide to land, I grow into an older bird. It is time to settle, to start a bird family of my own. And how easy this will be. It does not take years of finding a bird mate, accruing enough money for a bird ring, a bird house and bird diapers.

Simply, I find the bird who is the bird for me and I am the bird for her and that is all we need. We find sticks for a home and discarded french fries for food.

What else should we have?

Every night we nestle our heads and no other bird or human or even God can tell where we end or begin. Our feathers are fluffed up too much in such a mass of affection.

Then, when it’s all said and done, after we’ve seen our last baby bird out of the nest, we sit for hours and dart our heads around every so often, and also we relax. Sometimes, we even have a nice little fly.

Because we are just two birds, who were once baby birds, who’ve never wished to be anything else.