21 October 10
Just a Job
Each day the sun warms my feathers and I
Drop to the sky, spread, soar: to the next peak
For brunch. He sees me and with
Resigned terror screams. And on.
Per usual, no resistance from flesh.
Efficient, I tear straight to the
Bittersour pinkybrown chambers.
He screams, chains a-rattle, a-wracked.
I shit then fly off, wondering
If one day, oh just once, they’ll
Let me eat cake.