by John Beaton
I saw a bird with just one wing.
The poor thing could not fly;
it fluttered in a clockwise ring.
Another squawked nearby,
similarly handicapped,
but anticlockwise in
the one-winged way it feebly flapped.
They filled me with chagrin
and then a bright idea brewed�
what if I was to tie
the two together? Then they could
Siamesely fly.
And so they did, the left wing and
the right, united, flew.
It happened in cloud cuckoo land�
one wing was red, one blue.
John Beaton, a retired actuary who was born in Scotland, is a widely published poet and spoken word performer from Vancouver Island, Canada.