“Your ‘news’ — I see just rants and assertations,
and, on your government and finance pages, lies
disguised so you believe they’re perorations.”
The jackdaw reads the news to me, his eyes
bird-bright as you’d expect and also wise.
“Sports stories, comics, ‘science’ how the stars’
positions at your birth foretell which cars,
and jobs, and lovers you’ll encounter. Fate!”
I fold my paper seeing how it jars
my feathered friend. I say, “The news can wait.”

 

“It’s time we did another dizain,” the jackdaw said to me. “A little story of ten lines with the rhyming pattern ababbccdcd. I’ll go first.”

And he did.