Its Alright Ma

No is not an answer
but a rock that splashes
endless rippling questions
and-kerplop-vanishes.
Your No drops on the ground
among the stubbed out butts
where a small, sick bird huddles.
Neither of us wants to look.

The small cracks in your voice
as you say, No, we can’t
spread like crazing failing ice.
I do not reach across and
take your nervous hand,
sit arms folded and solemn.
Drowning alone and cold
is my own foolish choice.

I do not want these words,
fold your No up and stuff it
in my wallet amidst all
the litter of responsibility.
I watch your soft green eyes
caress the sick nestling at our feet
which flies off beyond rescue.
No, its chirps, I’m alright. Really.