March 15th, 2000
When I was somewhere younger than ten,
I found death in the weeds at the edge of a parking lot.
At first it seemed like just a lost baby bird.
How is a kid supposed to recognize the apathy of the Universe,
when Spiderman and Superman always set things right?
Doesn't the Hall of Justice protect this world?
Bugs crawled underneath the feathers,
but I ignored them and carried it home—dad would know what to do.
I was helping to beat the bad guy!
It was hard to understand when dad said it was hopeless,
that the bird was as good as dead, and nothing could change it.
That day, more than a baby bird died.