December 3, 2012

caged bird (with apologies to Ms. Angelou)

I know why the caged bird
doesn't sing. Not because
it misses freedom
or sky, or flight, or inspiration.

Pah to freedom. This cage
is paid for. That noise? Is for
the birds. You're free,

so what, you're young,
you flutter by, you sing,
you get discovered, told

you're something
special, you sing louder,
better, righter, more.
You find yourself

doing it for money,
trilling for trinkets,
cooing for compliments,
chirping for cheese. They

call that freedom. Girl, please.

I know why the caged bird
doesn't sing, and why
it saunters lazy
to its perch, and, there,
from on high, grandly

takes a shit.
Someone will clean it up,

when you're a caged bird,
song, or no song.

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