Learning How to Fly

I decided to learn how to fly, so for help
I opened a book I’d pulled from the shelf
and pasted torn pages all over myself,
just like a paper bird’s feathers.

My first flight began on the roof of my house,
then down to the grass. I said, “Oof!” as I bounced,
but back to my feet I immediately pounced
not willing to give up so easy.

It made perfect sense that I needed my hands
to be longer so I could have longer wingspan,
so with ten spatulas and ten rubber bands
I lengthened each one of my fingers.

The next time I climbed to the branch of a tree,
but I made sure the ground was soft under me.
In addition I raked up a pile of leaves,
and that’s where my second flight ended.

I was wondering why I continued to fail
when it suddenly struck me that all birds have tails,
so with belt and umbrella I thought I’d prevail
in perfecting my bird transformation.

I was already bruised from my two flights so far,
so the next one was just from the hood of Dad’s car.
When the ground hit my head I felt tears and saw stars
and complained to the sky, “Learning’s painful!”

I figured I just needed more bird-like traits.
So I swallowed a worm, then with two paper plates
I fashioned a beak that I wore on my face,
and whistled a perfect birdsong.

This time when I jumped it was off of a chair
and again I flew down, not up in the air.
I’m just a bird who is flying-impaired,
so I’m learning to walk like a penguin.