Too Drunk To Fly — A Poem From My Book

Too Drunk To Fly

Tree top tavern
      in the woods
      where unsuspecting
      robins feast
      upon fermented berries

From tree top limbs
      they start to wobble
      to forest floor
      crash landings
Too drunk to fly
      they walk about
      in drunken stupor
      right foot crossing over left
      left foot tripping over right
Perhaps, they know
      I start to wonder . . .
One plump fellow
      red breast skyward
      slurs his chirp
      and hails his comrades
            “The pub is open. Join the party!”
Another ports a beaky smile
      a smile to pale
      the morning after
Drunken robins
      eyes glazed over
      through the woods
      they swoon and stumble

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