For nine long hours
I believe that swallow
is a prisoner of the air.
It did not knot its tie
this morning,
did not read its paper.
Nowhere in its soaring
is one clue
as to the cold razor
cuffed across the chin
or the bland kiss
from a wife.
There's no sign above
its tree branches
that says simply, "Teamwork".
It cannot buzz
from the elevator
to the water cooler
to the men's room.
There's no indication
in the spread of its wings
that it knows how
to oil the wheels,
set the gauges,
check the motors.
Sure, it flies in flocks,
it pecks the berries clean,
but where does it go
to leave the sky?
Where is the other place
when, horizon to horizon,
there's just one place?
— JOHN GREY
John Grey is an Australian poet and Rhode Island resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Novus and Calliope. His latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon.