Corky, my beloved bird, has died. I didn't witness it happen, but I saw the remains: his beaten body, his little hands scrunched up, his face still wearing that "I'm as dumb as all hell" expression.
Cold little eyes.
Sure, it may not have been him, just some other stupid bird of the same species. But I choose to believe that it was indeed him, and that he died much as he lived--jetting at an unbelievable speed into the dangerously transparent windows of McDonough.
Jay and I decided to honor him by building a little funeral pyre. But that's a lot of work, so instead, I just lit his tail on fire with a Bic. The smell was terrible--but somehow, I knew, Corky would have wanted it that way. We left him on the table for awhile until his vacant stare became unnerving, then rolled him up in a Fritos bag and threw him in a recycling bin. The circle of life.
Later, Jay and I went to the Kennedy Center, saw the Dvorak Cello Concerto and the complete Daphnis et Chloe (chorus included). This worked out well for all involved, since I enjoyed some great music, and Jay had a nice nap.
My inventory of memorized poetry is currently at 6.