The old saying being A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. As I am a bird I would argue And seek to educate you.

The one bird in the hand is Headed for the pot. We birds are not really birdbrains. We know our fate.

I would argue that bird gives Short pleasure and is gone, A quick bite, and hardy fulfilling. But those two in the bush?

They give you songs In evening and at dawn. They lift your spirits And have you searching the skies. Their flight and feathers unmatched.

So I would teach you In my erudite birdy way, Two birds in a bush Will always trump one in hand Who was headed for the pot.

“You never listen to me!” Sara shouted, stomping up the stairs in her Doc Martins, shaking every step on her way up. Martha waited for it, then heard the door slam shut, rattling on its hinges as Sara retreated to her bedroom. Martha paused again, as the music assaulted the quiet of the house for a few seconds and then all was quiet. Martha smirked. “Thank God for headphones”, she thought.

Sara had turned into a screaming, stomping monster since her 13th birthday in March. The hormones had kidnapped her sweet little girl and left this hormonal wreck in her place. Martha probably should come down harder on her when she lost her cool, but Martha was well aware of her own history of parental hate. She remembered a particularly rocky episode with her mom when Martha had wanted to get a tattoo for her 14th birthday and her mom had essentially said it would only happen over her dead body. Then her mom had said the dreaded words to Martha.

“You know, I was a teenager once. I get it. I’m not your enemy and I have feelings. I’m only human”.

Martha’s reply? “Parents aren’t human! They’re...they’re....MUTANTS!”

And her mom just laughed and continued making the meatloaf. What goes around, comes around.