Parrot

This experiment with mediocrity
tolls like a mournful bell:
rhythmic clanging at unpredictable hours
sunset
sunrise

Her name was Melinda and I was fourteen and she asked me
"would you rather be subpar at everything
or excel with a demon perched on your shoulder who
reminded you constantly of your imperfections"

I smiled with sealed lips because of that
crooked tooth I hide
on stage, narrating with nonchalance

(Melinda went to California)

that teenager could not choose
and decades later did not have to because she had option one down pat
and the demon of option two arrived like an unexpected houseguest