If I were a bird I would have golden dandruff on my wings,
sleep on Mars and lick frost of stars.
Fly down to earth, sit by a child’s bedside and tell a story
‘Mama, last night I spoke to an angel’
The child’s mother will smile,
and think that her son was fantasising yet again.

Or transform myself into a shiny black wing
flapping vulture walk beside a drunk
till he promised not to drink
and treat his harassed wife well.

If I were a bird I would live inside a pink cloud;
join the angels; choir till I got so bored
that I wished god would come
and pulverize their bloody harp and strike them dumb.

Come to think of it, if I really, really were a bird
I would live in fear of man
pluck my feathers off hide my wings in the cupboard
and live inside a business suit.