I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Bukowski Style

the little black-eyed guy paces
the length
of his man-made domain

chatters, scratches
chatters, scratches

flaps his wings
then crashes
into metal

and even with his grain-sized brain

the little pecker
knows
that he's been captured

forced to play
the part of a pet
or worse yet,

he'll be

beheaded, plucked and basted
with a tangy marinade

either way

the feathered fucker's only one refrain from death.

© K. R. Copeland