Those deadbeats

I usually go outside my backyard for a cig to calm my bones from a long and tedious day and soak in the afternoon delight which is screaming children and even louder parents. I sit under the plum tree, rip leaves and burn things and check on the little nest above my head which lately, has been abandoned. There are two eggs sitting inside and it's sweet looking and amateur photographers and poets would flock to the tree and have their moments.

Anyway, somewhere in my blackened soul, I feel sorry for these poor almost-birds.

I might have a Fly Away Home moment and nuture the eggs, find myself, fly a plane and teach the birds to fly then become a fulfilled young woman who wears ugly floral hats. I think I have room in 2009 for that!