A painting of a robin. Photo from The Mark Twain House & Museum, 2026.
Do you realize
every other piece of art
is elegant
and intricate
and expensive
and cultured
and made by famous artists?
And you’re a potbellied bird with no feet?
Did you know there’s a rumor
you were made by a little girl?
Surrounded by carvings
from all over the world,
why do people assume
you were made by fingers,
smeared and stained and sticky?
Because you have the audacity
to be playful?
Aren’t you embarrassed?
Aren’t you ashamed?
Aren’t you indebted?
Don’t you owe it to us
to be impressive?
Why not?
Why do I like you?
Why do you make me smile?
Why do I know you were made by someone who danced?
And why not a controlled dance either—
arms flapping
legs jiggling
eyes clenched?
Do you fly
off the wall at night?
Do you soar through the house—
use railings as jungles
and statues as playmates?
Do you explore the landscapes
hung on the walls?
Are they too grim for you?
Or do you offer them your light?
Me?
No, I can’t, right?
Well…
Weird
Wonderful
Whimsical
Wild
Whooping
Whirling
Wheeling
Whining
Wincing
Winking
Winning
Wondering
God, how much more
can you do
with a W?!
Ok, that was fun.
I can tell you love
cheesy movies, right?
I can tell you love
comic books, right?
I can tell you love
musicals, right?
Do you chirp along?
You know,
I always liked Robin more than Batman.