The Wrong Tree

The brilliant white morning light
Through the clear sliding doors nearby, 
And I
Wince slightly as it comes, releasing a vexed huff. 
It is probably about 5:15 AM;
My dull ears can clearly hear the younger child of the house 
Stumbling around 
Growling to herself – 
I can’t quite understand the words. 
Instinctively, I whine plaintively, 
pawing at the time-worn metal cage. 
Like Pavlov’s famed dog, I am driven 
By my conditioning 
To supplicate for freedom the moment I hear life in the house. 
I can’t tolerate the 
of my owners’ home for much longer, and my food bowl is, 
out of reach.
By 6:27, they have finally released me 
To relieve myself. 
I am elated 
To be able to experience the agglomeration of colors 
That the outside world brings. 
In their world of monochrome, I see 
An infinite medley of hues, and I 
am content.


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