Please listen, there’s a thing back there I killed

that’s spiritual and has two wings like anything

we love forever—take the pigeon, take the

bluebird—I would rather walk with a cane

than hurt a bluebird; I would kill anyone who stuffed

a full-grown frog into a mason jar

and threw him from a third floor window, the glass

cutting his body, penetrating his mouth

and eyes.  You have to get down there and kill

the frog yourself before you run up the stairs

and beat him, holding him half out the window, let his

name be erased for the thing back there.