Minnie by Daniel Green

The dream, as always, sets me wandering,
aimless, seeking. This time on Broadway,
New York, lost among indifferent crowds.


A woman, looks like Theda Bara,under
a slanted, broad-brimmed hat, smiles,
carries in the crook of her elbow a small
grey-feathered bird, a raptor.


Theda murmurs something to the bird,
a Slavic-sounding word, the bird squawks,
(can a little bird grin?), I stare again.

The creature’s head is overlarge, oddly
wall-eyed, a gaping mouth with ragged
teeth, no beak, a jutting jaw.
Curved talons grasp my arm, the woman
says “Minnie likes you”, and walks away.
I’m now possessed by an ugly bird, glaring
at me as though I were something edible
slavers in anticipation, marks a target
on my choking throat. I gurgle a scream.
I marvel at my desperate helplessness.
I need a way to be rid of this unwanted
succubus, before I’m ravaged.
At last, a feckless fool appears, and asks
the question which tags him as my rescuer.
“Her name is Minnie,” I reply.
She flies into his arms and I am free
to wake and wonder what this madcap
dream could mean?