Bird On The Wire Poem by Bryan Harford

How was this so?
To be there and yet not,
Sleep driving and then walking
Within this mortal scrapyard.

We, unceasing with the Elastoplast,
We, Forth Bridge painters yet,
We, wanting and receiving so little,
Therefore, just about breaking even.

And then you arrived,
In a flurry of Van Dyke brown,
Upon the Lacerating razor wire,
And sublimely serenaded me so.

You chirruped legato inflections
And trilled staccato phrases.
Then paused as surely as any Diva,
To preen your precocious apparel.

Unlike Shawshank Redemption,
Yours was an audience of one,
Held rapt by your burgeoning Aria,
As the notes, heavenward soared.

How I wish I were not alone,
Temporarily ensconced so,
Between utilitarian, brute brown building,
And fearsome perimeter fence

Within this sheet metal, coiled wire citadel,
To witness your enchantment,
And smile in acknowledgement at the inescapable irony
And so surely appreciate.

But nevertheless, alone I invariably was
And selfishly glad it was so,
For, your singing, wouldn't be heard by all,
To lie wasted, upon Barren ground.