The Fifty Billionth Birdie-in-a-Treetop Poem

Well, not really.

The bird has flapped away.

Spooked by a

snarling chainsaw.

Probably dead by now.

Makita doesn’t make ‘em

like they used to.

The tree was ear-

marked for removal.

Something ‘bout

curtailing Dutch Elm

Disease. The fungus is Dutch,

not the tree. It came from a

pack of Voortman. Cookies

make a monster. The rattle of

ping-pong eyes.

Now AI has butted in:

"The synonym for table tennis

comes from its onomatopoeic

nature.” Who uses such a word?

Who’s it trying to impress?

We’ve come a long way from

Sesame Street. What’s next?

Is Big Bird now Brobding-

nagian Avis? Doesn’t exactly

spew off the tongue—

like your Oma’s godawful

Stroopwafel.

How did this morph

to a poem on sport & biscuit?

The latter comes from Latin—

biscoctus, twice-baked—

who has time for that?

Do it right on your very first

go, grandpappy always

said. Give the discards

to the birds. They’ll shit

them on the trees. Guaranteed

to keep them healthy.

I think it pertained to both.

Means this actually

counts.

Andreas Gripp

November 15, 2025

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