If my skin had feathers
I’d take better care of it.
I’d groom as others swooned.
I’d try not to puff my chest out too much.
Hopefully I’d be the kind of
feathered thing that could fly.
I’d giggle at the tickle of my chin
and climb inside pillowcases for tired people.
But not for my wife.
I imagine the downside
to having skin made of feathers
would be my wife being allergic to me.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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