The taste of sparrow.

Cackle young bird.
Laugh at me from your high spot.
If I was taller, by only two measly feet--
your straw nest would stand ablaze.
I'll cackle at you bird.
At the wings you can't use yet.
Snuff it out with those flammable feathers you wear.
I dare you.
Jump and soar before it's meant,
or jump and die forgotten on this very sidewalk,
or sit and burn.
Sit and hope.
And wish.
And wait. To no avail.
On tail the fire catches.
Sulphur matches coat made free.
Burn.
and Burn.
and Burn.
So jump.
Catch my hand with trust and fate.
Cackle again.
CACKLE.
I dare you.
Seriously.
I dare you.
You're simply lucky I'm not two feet taller.
Or your nest would be engulfed,
and you would have to trust--
me. Your target. Your enemy. My second chance.