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Parakeets, green and boisterous, reclaim their branches,
A dog barks and the parakeets scream in syncopation.
Oh the dog! I strain to see it but never can,
Worrying every night in my bedroom,
Berating myself for not creeping over to the street
Behind my garden, Miss Pet Inspector!
All I can do is watch from my bedroom window,
Fifty or so parakeets every evening around 6pm
(Descendents of two lovers who, legend has it, took their chance,
Through the open cage door,
Careless owner pouring out the seeds whilst fretting over the nearly-finished milk).
So now, a rainbow of green hues and energy,
Leaves restless in the wind and violent feathers,
-Which is which?-makes me jealous,
interred by my sodden humanity,
Boxed-in, pathetic, and yearning to be them.
