the bird and your old fashioned

when you were in the ladies’ room,
a bird flew down to perch
on the rim of your old fashioned.
after awhile, it hopped onto
the rim of my vodka tonic,
turning its head back and forth
from one cocktail to the other.
I listened to faraway jazz, unperturbed.
finally the bird hopped back to
your old fashioned, buried its head in it
and drank deeply and freely.
its submerged head looked like a fossil in amber.
in one fell swoop, it chugged your entire drink,
then looked up, right into my eyes,
with a look that said you will never love me.
without so much as a whistle or note in the air,
the bird flew off, zigzagging drunkenly towards the stars.
it swallowed them one by one until the sky was black.