Flying Baby Giraffe

A Poem

Flying Baby Giraffe 

I’m well aware 
I try to fly 

like leaping fleas
legs too heavy

and kicky feet 
before committing 
                           to crawling, 

but it’s hard to stop this habit. 
The ground I cover before the crash, 

is vast. The perspective grasped
before failure, wide.  

I can always crawl-to walk-to run later. 
But I don’t want to 
                    get comfortable on the floor. 

I prefer thin air, 
head in clouds, 

open sky, and birds around.

                                       —N.J. Simat

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