not the chicken kind, real ones growing
out of my shoulder muscles, ones that
flex and open white and pink, that take me
up and out for a while, just enough
to escape for a moment. Of course
if I really had wings, the government
would be up in arms calling me a UFO
trying to catch me with their drones
and helicopters in hot pursuit.
If I tried to hide in a cloudbank they’d follow
using their heat-seeking missiles and
finally shoot me down. Someone might say
I know this woman, she wrote poetry.
We didn’t know she had wings.
newmiragejournal 