Microfiction: A Small Rebellion by Jack Phillips Lowe

A SMALL REBELLION

 

 

 

 

            The government money dropped yesterday. So, Helen went out to Kroger’s for groceries today. Helen is two years older than me. But her legs work better than mine. 

So Helen goes out and leaves me at home. Which suits me just fine. 

            It’s the time I like best. After all these years, Helen still thinks she’s the boss of me. When she’s out, that’s the only time I do what I want. 

I like to feed the birds in our backyard. If I don’t, how will they eat? The birds depend on me for food. Every day, they look for me—cardinals, blue jays, yellow finches, woodpeckers, sparrows. Hell, nobody else does. They swarm around me like a Disney cartoon. The birds are the only friends I got. 

Helen thinks she knows it all. Last week, she told me, “Genna, don’t feed the birds no more. It’s winter now. Any food you throw down for them birds, it’s going to bring mice and rats from all over. If you bring mice and rats to my house, I’m going to send you to the county home. No more feeding birds until Spring comes.”

 

Well, to hell with her. I can’t let the poor birds starve to death in this cold and snow. As for the mice and rats? My dog, Oliver, is a Boston Terrier. Boston Terriers are better mouse-catchers than any cat. But Helen don’t like Oliver, either. So on that score, Helen don’t know her ass from her elbow. 

Like I said, Helen went out to Kroger’s for groceries. So, I took a couple slices of Wonder Bread from the ice box and tore them up into little bits on a paper towel. 

I put on my coat and my old legs were good enough to shuffle me out to the driveway. There, the birds were waiting for me like I was their guardian angel. Warmed my heart, it did. 

            I dumped the bread out on the driveway for them. The birds jumped all over it, like they hadn’t eaten in days. In minutes, the bread was gone. Those birds were back up in the trees, singing. And it felt like they were singing just for me. 

When Helen got home, there was no bread left and no birds were seen anywhere. She didn’t know from Shinola. So, Helen, the birds and me, we was all happy—for different reasons.

See? Helen ain’t the boss of me. 

Jack Phillips Lowe was born, raised and still resides in the Chicago area. His poems and short stories have appeared in Piker Press, Synchronized Chaos and Bold Monkey Review, among other outlets. Lowe's most recent poetry chapbook, Brautigan's Blue Moon (Instant Oblivion Press, 2025), is available on lulu.com.