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Postmodern Village
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Wasting Time on Each Blue Jay
by Francine DuBois

Uncle Ernie could never tell the truth.
We'd go out to the playground
Near his house, and, as we would swing,
He'd sit me on his lap and point out
The birds, claiming each one was
A fallen Norse hero, a former
Superhero now stripped of all glory,
A has-been like my own father.

We'd then toss bread crumbs to
The blue jays, watching them outjump
The fat squirrels, chattering just as
Ernie was babbling about Odin.

When he left Aunt Ida seven years ago,
All we had left was his complusion to lie to children.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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