Dead Bird on the Sidewalk in the Age of Technology (Prose Poem)

There’s a dead bird on my front sidewalk. What to do? Call the Humane Society? Throw it in the neighbor’s yard and let them deal with? Throw it in the trash? A text to friends and the consensus is to throw it in the trash.

Even in death, it’s pretty. Lying on it’s back, head cocked to the side. Speckled chest, an underside of bright yellow tail feathers, and a red spot on its nape. What kind is it? Audobon.org Guide to North American Birds says it’s the woodpecker’s cousin, a Yellow Flicker. There’s a recording of drumming and a haunting call.

I can’t bear to touch it so the flap torn from a cardboard box is the body bag. Wait. Is this the kind of bird that gets West Nile Virus? Google sends me to CDC.gov who sends me to dhhs.ne.gov where, eventually, there’s a number for reporting dead birds during normal business hours. It’s after 4:30 though.

The yard waste trash can half full of spent tomato vines is the coffin. That night, I lay awake wondering about the dead bird’s final moments. All the next day I hear that haunting call even though the dead bird is secured in the trash can.

Siri, do yellow flickers mate for life?