Paradise

Paradise

“In Paradise, roasted pigeons fly into your mouth.”--Werner Herzog in Fata Morgana

A fly once flew into my mouth

I think a bee or wasp

It's been long ago

Since then I've been

Able to keep my mouth shut

Only my fingers slam out words

That I can't retract

Some I chew on for years

Some actions also

Its those pigeons I worry about

Are the bones soft

Is there any lead shot

Hiding in the wings

And feathers

We're they plucked before cooking

Is Herzog watching me

Or is he throwing those pigeons

At people who made it to paradise

But the first thing is a bird

Slammed into my mouth

I'm against forced feeding

Especially when I'm dead

Or about to be

Let me go someplace

Without the rats of the air

And just who besides Herzog

Thinks force feeding pigeons

Is an elegant action in paradise

Is paradise a place to eat

I want to read the review

In the Times or Tribune

Is there only pigeon

Or something else on the menu

If godd controls this place

What's he got against pigeons

That he has to kack and roast them

Woo, this place might not be for me

I come from beef country

Imagine getting hit in the pie hole

With a twelve hundred pound

Barbequed steer hooves and all

More sauce please

Barry G. Wick