a cage is a cage, not a home
he bought the bird, a silly little thing
that ground pellet and seed in its beak,
shook plumes of down into his nose but
that was okay because he figured it was
a bird thing to do. he listened to the
bird squawk as he would walk pass its
cage, feel it fluff up against his neck as it
sat upon his shoulder, watched as it shit
on his desk but that was okay because he
figured it was a bird thing to do. when
he moved the bird beside a window he
realized its home was nothing more than a
cage lined with white unyielding bars. he
watched the bird spread its wings, pace its
perch, long for the backyard. the bird would
be eaten by a hawk, of course, but freedom
would not die, not then, not at all. so he took
the bird tenderly into hand, opened the window
and both jumped to grace. but that was okay because
it was the best chance they had.
© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
…poetry handcrafted from the inside of bars…
my newest poetry collection ‘Scotch and Scars’ is now available in paperback and Kindle ebook at Amazon.
‘A Distilled Spirit: pained prose from a bar,’ is also available in paperback and Kindle ebook at Amazon.
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