Blue Bird

While sitting outside smoking a cigarette, I was visited by a strange blue bird. He said, "Hello."

I put the cigarette to my lips to see if the smoke tasted like a dream. I exhaled a reply. "Hello and how do you do?"

"Fine just fine... feeling blue... and you?"

"Feeling fine and feeling blue? How can that be true. Is it because your feathers are blue?"

"Are you rhyming because I am a bird who happens to be blue? I was born that way... blue through and through."

"Oh, I meant you no insult. It's just that I have never had a bird speak to me."

We stared at each other for a moment. He turned his head. I thought he was about to fly away. Instead, he looked back at me and chirped.

I laughed, "You're a funny little bird. I like your chirping. What does that mean... I mean, how would you translate that sound into words that I would understand?"

"You will never know."

"Is that what the chirps mean, or are you being difficult?"

I was confused now, and could see that the blue bird knew I was confused too. He could not smirk or smile, but I could see it in his eyes. He was waiting for my next move.

Waiting still.

I flicked my lit cigarette at his beak, and immediately felt guilty for this smug reaction. The ashes sparked. The feathers fanned. The smoke swirled. I fled as the blue bird flew.

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