I’m getting back to a place I’ve been
where I’m not a cog in a crude machine
where much less time is spent in vain
with sycophants on the gravy train.
where knees are bent and backs are stretched
and arms are used to take and fetch
where hands of purpose mould my day
to fire a pot of stronger clay.
am a bright green parrot hiding in the leaves.
cannot always see my brilliant colours.
am not tethered to a particular tree, leaf or twig.
do not shift according to your mood.
speak in swirls, but sometimes you only hear me squawk.
need not listen.
am no less lovely when your heart is closed.