So, there are these chefs in France, right? Well of course
you knew that, there are
chefs everywhere. Sorry.
But these French ones: They’re already
pretty successful, I mean
they have their own restaurants. But they want to cook up
(these little brown ones)
and serve them after dinner like
a bunch of flying, singing
cups of tea.
And I started maybe thinking,
what is wrong with these French people?
I mean, they have other animals
and these birds
don’t hurt anyone, and I guess
maybe the problem
is that I’m scared one day I’ll wake up
in the stomach of a man
on culinary supremacy and avian flu,
blinded by delicacy,
seduced by my collapsed wings,
and I’m no four-‐‐inch songbird but I like where I live.
I hide in a cage with a lock, and I don’t
think my body
is what a hungry Frenchman wants
to cook,when he reaches his
spindly, tree branch fingers
into the unbounded cavern of his outdoor refrigerator,
but if they can’t find Hannah, what’s