The Parrot

Poem By Anji Carter

In this dusky world of cardboard boxes,
Between the smell of dog-biscuits and straw,
I learn to repeat the lessons
Constantly coaxed upon me by casual callers.

A green canopy moistly melts into my imagination,
Touching on a memory still raw.
Where familiar slanting sunshine,
Echoes callers, not so casual.
In a world, whose comforting odours
Avoid enclosures made of cardboard,
Where my perch is not a prison,
And a sideboard is a tree.

Brown crackling world,
Whose lambent light now corrugates my dusk.
Where to spread my wings unbidden,
Is no longer my decision.
Lack of space makes it forbidden,
Yet I try my best to move.
While I hold to my position,
Perched, awaiting fresh horizons,
Anticipating when this death will end.

I am waiting for society to notice I am absent.
Waiting for some company to call.
I am chattering so gaily,
For I really must admit,
My lessons were not difficult at all.
I'm impulsive and I'm friendly,
And when you want I'm ready,
On the shoulder of your sleeve I could be worn.
I would brighten any jacket,
If your ears can stand the racket.
I could make a most attractive epaulette!

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