survival

in a cage
in the other room
on a table
is a yellow red
blue green
bird
with velvet feathers
and a curved
steel beak.
it's forty years old
give or take
a decade.
it squawks and says
hello in a high
pitched odd voice
coming somewhere
half way down
it's short
thick throat.
on the sill the cat
sits with all the inbred
patience of
centuries.
waiting.
waiting for the open
swing of
the cage door.