Many of my poems are cryptic and have meaning only to myself. I normally do not wish to explain what the meaning may be. In the case of this particular one, I think the explanation is probably better than the poem so I will explain.    I am many things and among those a bird lover. I have a special penchant for bluebirds as I find them to be among the most beautiful of birds. I am also an accomplished archer and have a 30 yard range set up at my shop. I reliably group at 1 1/4″ or under whenever I shoot and as a rule I do not miss.   When I am calm my aim is unerring.    So, a bluebird lands on a branch next to my target exactly at 30 Yds.  Yep… Right at my target. What’s a man to do?   I couldn’t help myself. I sighted in and took aim. The bluebird framed fully in my peep sight and I was even able to pick a spot; middle. I use a trigger release and I had become steel as I squeezed the trigger. There was no movement as I sighted and released.I slowed my heart rate as I prepared to shoot. I was dead on as the arrow left my bow.  308 F.P.S. of instant death.  I missed by half an inch, impacting just below it’s breast.  I was so relieved that fate had intervened that I can’t describe it. I was panting in relief as I saw that I had missed. The bluebird actually stayed there for a moment perplexed by the impact then fluttered away.    It wasn’t me; I had held my mark. It had to be the gracious hand of fate.    My punishment for this evil? I have never seen the Bluebirds again that used to frequent my shop. I am left now with only the fickle crows that kick at the front door and demand food. I traded the bluebird of happiness for the crows of depression. I know.. I deserve it.

Circa 1996. Met a guy at a hotel that I swear was a serial killer

I don't really think I need a note.