“dead bird hit the window.”
“huh? excuse me?”
“dead bird hit the window.”
he was right.
there it laid on
our concrete sidewalk.
poor bastard must’ve
not noticed the glass
in front of him, and
broke his neck
in the process. 
or maybe,
he saw something he wanted,
that made the risk worth it.
or maybe,
he just didn’t care,
and did it on purpose. 
I don’t know.
dead birds can’t tell truths.
what I know is, 
I picked him up,
and at least gave him the right
of lying dead on the grass.
and I hope
that when I go,
someone at least
has the decency
to do me the same.