Strain

Strain

I found him mapping the mass of duck eggs
on the tech room steps,
both bits of a biro clenched in his fist.

He said he’d seen the news
that bird flu was sneaking
and he was making maps
of all the ways it might get in.

He said he couldn’t cover every angle,
that birds made his brain crack
and what if
all the fluid seeped out
and got infected by a pigeon.

I could’ve said to him about statistics,
shown him systems
on the lake down by the quarry,
but all the love of looking after came in
and I imagined combing his egg head
looking for teaspoon smacks.

I said the news was all fiction now.
How could he think that birds got sick
when they didn’t have feelings.
I got him off the steps
and walking home took up the outside
to hide the traffic
blinking past us like geese.