Morning*, Poem by Morgan Michaels

The sun flung a big fleck
of gold on the wall
'Good Morning, ' croaked the bird
from his cell beside the bed,
rounding his greeting off with
'keck, keck, keck.'

And bouncing on his
branch of yellow, blue and red
braid and craning his neck
to peek beneath the sheet
just for emphasis, repeated,
'keck, keck, keck.'

'Want coffee? ' he gasped.
'He's very good, ' I thought,
craning in the bed to watch
him stretch out far his yellow leg
that matched his iris-
'keck, keck, keck.'

Listening (it seemed) a sec
to the radio clock
spinning out heavenly harpsong:
by O'Carolan, of course,
who liked the potcheen, said,
'keck, keck, keck.'

'The bird just wanted to be fed-
birds needing breakfast, too.'
'Water, ' the tenant pled-
'Just a second, ' I then said
kicking off the spread.
'keck, keck, keck.'

'Poor, thing, ' I professed,
'trapped in a gilded nest! '
'A man's soul, ' he replied,
is no less trapped in his breast.'
'what did you say? ', I cried -
'keck, keck, keck.'