Fatherbird

Aldrin Badiola | Poetry

It’s midnight, & he is driving me home past the trees 

   on the highway. There’s a bird’s nest crying out like sirens. 

      He asks me if I have a girlfriend as I am texting 

   the only man to say he loved me. There’s a crow flying 

down to meet us, because he left the sunroof open. He

   is pissed because there’s now pigeon shit on the dash 

      & it is midnight. I am sitting here sweaty—my shirt sticks 

   to my back because my boyfriend held me pretty; 

baby-like & bird-trembling today. He tells me he regrets 

   everything. I agree. I look out the window & a flock of crows 

      goes past the scream of moonlight. 

Maybe I can fly with them.

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Aldrin Badiola (he/him) is a Filipino poet. A Best of the Net nominee, his works are published in The Hopkins Review and elsewhere. He is the editor-in-chief of Artists from Maryland. He can be found at aldrinbadiola.carrd.co.