The Great Escape

The escaped parrots gather
in our Black Olive tree, 
grown old,
feathers molting,
too tired now to fly further south. 
They squawk about pollycrackers 
and sometimes utter
obscenities to the rising sun.

They hiss at my dog,
jump one branch higher, days 
I venture too close to their tree.

I wonder if they archytype dreams
about steamy jungles, 
roaring tigers 
and chest-thumping gorillas 
running free below them
before two-legged predators 
grabbed their land, 
or do they dream in people talk,
still have memories
of small faces pressed 
in wonder at this caged 
green and gold finery 
chained to its perch.

Pris Campbell


Parrots in Blue by Walasse Ting
   found at

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