The last bird on Earth
nudged her new dead chick.
It had been so strong,

then the white spots came,
just like she had seen
on her beloved.

She left the dry nest,
perching on a rail
hot with rusty scabs.

With a ruthless glare
through the silent road’s
shimmering mirage,

She sang her last song.

— Mickey Kulp

Mick Kulp is a writer, father, and effing bug slayer who is not allowed to buy his own clothes. His creative nonfiction, fiction, and poetry have appeared in numerous consumer magazines, newspapers, literary journals, and three books of poetry. His recent publications are found in Assisi Journal, Gravel, Torrid, Literary Orphans, Yellow Chair Review, Silver Blade, Illumen, Haiku Journal, Broke Bohemian, Chantwood, Folded Word, Georgia’s Emerging Writers, and Gyroscope Review. His complete portfolio can be seen here: He is a member of the Gwinnett County Writers Guild and founding member of the Snellville Writers Group. In 2018, he created the ‘Books and Beer’ reading series to benefit the local food co-op.

He lives with his wife and a dozen larcenous squirrels in Atlanta, GA.  His next book is coagulating nicely.

Editor’s Note:  The superimposed images of a songbird (from Daily Mail Online) and an apocalypse background (from, echo the irony in the poem. The melancholy is accentuated by the pentasyllabic lines.

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