A bird flew in my mouth.
I gulped in horror.
If it were a mozzie,
A blowfly,
No worries
But a bird
A wattlebird at that.
It panicked in the echo chamber of my mouth.
I wrestled it with both hands
Trying to pry it loose.
Suddenly it plopped out like a fish.
It staggered in the air.
I staggered along the path.
A bird in the mouth is worth two in the bush.
My friend quipped.
So how was it? he asked.
Surreal, I clucked. Surreal
John Malone 
Somehow, your stories work. 🙂
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thanks Chelsea. I road test most of my poems in public readings. It’s a pretty reliable way of gauging their merit. Sometimes though I do it the other way around and present them first as post
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I have a feeling that, without your realizing it, that bird followed you home. It likes you!
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I have written and had published a children’s poem about a fly that followed me home 🙂
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As uncomfortable it is just with a little fly… Great little story and poem.
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thanks: I’m beginning to enjoy writing pieces with a surrealist flavour 🙂
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So very clever.
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Taste just like chicken, I’m guessing 🐔
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it’s a long time ago, David but I remember the incident distinctly: the taste of oily feathers, the fluttering in the mouth ….
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