New Year's Eve

It's six o'clock in the evening & where I am
there is no snow. Birds transcribe the incalculable

arc of flight, that graceful half-circle etched
between origin & destination. Who can say
where they'll end up? My first name is Nate.

My last name is Pritts. I'm having a wonderful time.
It's been a wonderful year. But even the birds

can't resist taking shots at each other,
thumb-sized beaks aimed kamikaze-style, feathers
shining the gaudy colors of jealousy, avian lust

& rage. My name is Nate & my neighbors
are unknown to me—their names unrecorded,

their haircuts unremarked upon, their all-night-long
comings & goings unexplained, the snap-
crackle-pop of their car tires on the rough gravel

as they back out & pull in with carloads of who-knows-what?
My last name is Pritts. Sluggish winter dark

makes it so I can't see more than ten feet
in front of my face, no moon. My name is Nate
but I will answer to Nathan & after this

last night of the year you can call me The Birdman
for the tenuous but lasting peace I will broker

amongst the warring factions of our feathered friends—
all night we will sing about love & happiness,
our wings our wings our wings around each other.

Copyright © 2007 Nate Pritts All rights reserved
from Court Green
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission