I ran into a kiwi bird
while hiking up the sledge track,
early morning.
It had news from my dad.
He says he has made friends with
Chester Bennington, Kurt Cobain,
and Curtis Mayfield. All the music icons
I look up to.
He says he has finally taught himself
how to play the piano
and is finishing up a song
dedicated to Remedios Varo.
I gently picked up the kiwi bird with my
wounded fingers and brought it closer to
me. My dad says he has also been
appointed to hunt down the beasts that
frequently ambush the paradise!
I found that amusing, reminiscing what a
tender and humble being he actually was.
All of a sudden, the bird took its
flight, before announcing aloud how proud
my dad was when I shielded my prose
from the Hellhound, the other night.
And I thought kiwi birds were flightless!