Greener Pastures
The morning brings the cockatoos
clicking and clattering on the rail,
waiting for the morning feed,
eyeing off the company, non-human,
just birds. Light yellow crowns
and black eyes turn to focus
on one amusement after another.
Hollow boned and cotton feathered,
they wait, moving up and down
the rail in jerky little steps.
I lay unmoving in bed,
not hollow but hollow headed,
listening to their occasional squawk
and constant clatter
over the gasping rattle
of my concrete chest.
The birds lift lightly and leave
unfed, in search of greener pastures.
I lay, heavily exhausted, hoping
greener pastures might come to me.
Peter Cartwright
May 2017
