Office Bird

A little bird, not mine

a pet kept, not at home but brought to work
to keep company

he flits at my elbow
making noise and nuisance
feathers flying

It's trying
on my patience and easy
to make threats

"Soup," I say.
"Bird soup."

He only blinks and tries to bite
my pen, moving
across paper on a decaying
roll-top desk

until I remember

His wings are clipped
he cannot fly
cannot move as birds are born to do

I let him have his noise.