Small breakfast, close quarters, less purposeful
schoolwork and Zoom over the table
the sun came out to brighten the day
a ritualistic rising, weather the only variety
Still it remains cold
The birds visit at our barred windows
and chirp and squawk at me
we are the ones in cages now
Perhaps there isn’t anything real anymore?
Only simple chores of survival
And the words we write
The brevity and fear of snuck trips to the store
Running a red light on the way home,
Free-range became more like an afterthought