Where The Pets Go

If I see a wild bird fallen, broken in mid-flight by a window pane that showed only sky

There, contorted and feasted upon by industrious armies of red ants

Do I feel sadness, pity for his ending in the grass?

No, I do not.

When I see a bird of glorious color, plumed and proud on a plastic bough.

Those wings folded and flaccid, feathers who once knew humid jungle currents

Swift eyes now darting between bars at his passing admirers, price tag putting his freedom on sale

I see he has a very long life to live, full of well fed idolatry, enslaved to the beauty

Of his evolutionary legacy

Do I pity him, a captive prince with his red plastic bell? Do I feel sadness when I see him pluck his shining feathers with hopeless self-loathing?

Yes, I do

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “Where The Pets Go

    1. I feel shamed when I go to the pet store and I see those jungle birds and the chinchillas pulled from their homes and put on display for me.
      Birds in my opinion should never be pets, it’s cruel. They say clipping their wings tames them but I doubt that very much. Take a tribesman from the jungle, cut his feet off and say “once you cut their feet they no longer try to run away, then they make great pets. ” ARG
      I ranted, sorry

      Liked by 2 people

Share Your Thoughts...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s