you tell me how the small green parrot

you own now says, I love you. You say

you wanted to buy it tiny pink shoes

that read pretty baby, but no one sells

shoes for birds. When I tell you about

my depression, you say there was a time

you fell in love with a coworker, but now

you love the small parrot on your shoulder

chirping I love you. When I tell you I thought

about suicide this year, you say, I think

if you had a bird, you’d be happier. And when

you hold your parrot to the phone, I hear

its little voice say, I love you. And your voice

in the distance prompting the bird to say it

again, Who loves you? Who love you?

as I quietly hang up the phone.

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