Happiness Is for the Birds

The joyous warble of some unseen bird
accompanied my morning ablutions,
a piercing insistence of the jungle
thriving just outside these four whitish walls.
From time to time it would become silent,
drowned out by razor’s hum or shower’s roar,
only to sound again that cheery note
the moment the din of convenience died.
The bird sang a song of uplift unmatched,
as I straightened my tie and gently mused
that the song was sweet because it was free,
while bondage can breed only bitterness.
Leaving, seeing the bird, I raised a hand
and gave it its namesake. Hey, fuck you, bird.

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