Do not touch the glass


The sign said it all,

The glorious-feathered bird

With its blazing colors

Perched inside
Twisting its head

This way, then that,

Trying to figure out

Who I am

On this side of the glass

The keeper telling us

“Look, don’t touch,

don’t smudge the glass,”

and we can’t,

hands pinned to our sides

by the keeper’s glare,
hapless, helpless

in the presence of

nature’s wonders,

bound by rules of order

we dare not break,

“Do not touch the class,”

the sign says,

and we don’t,

no matter how close

the bird gets

or how much its stare

twists inside of us.


poetry menu

Main Menu

email to Al Sullivan