Identity Crisis

You turn your head and look up at
The clear and sultry summer sky
And from within your emerald throat
There comes a sharp and piercing cry.

Your parrot eye, exquisite red
Is round and ringed with perfect lash
And with that tiny shining orb
You watch your feathered brethren dash.

High up they flash from here to there,
The swallows, swifts and raucous crows
And from inside your iron cage
Your consternation grows and grows.

While in the throes of jealousy
You open wide your scissored beak,
There tumbles out a garbled stew
A jumbled hash of human speak.

This welter comes out thick and fast
Reflections of my household lore;
A sullen whine, a sweet hello,
An addled laugh, you then implore.

Of course there's more (there always is)
But talk in Greek, you might as well,
The fragments of the words you spew
Into a phrase just will not gel.

Outside your cell you climb around
With no attempt to fly away
As you've embraced captivity,
(For room and board we all must pay).

Oh some would say, "His wings are clipped
He has no choice you stole his flight"
And while there is some truth in this
To leave it there would not be right.

Your plight is that your little head
Is filled with human intercourse,
Your wild winged heart has lost its wings
And so you're wracked with hot remorse.

Shriek till you're hoarse, or jabber on,
(You're stuck with us in any case),
Perplexed, at odds, and downright miffed,
Well welcome to the human race.