The Parrot

This bird cannot love you

Although

She will screech when you come home

She is a creature of comfort—

Designed to mirror your energy

And feast on forgotten crumbs

Your feathered girl enjoys

Being shown off to your coworkers

Mimicking children

And playing tricks on her toys

She is not programmed to

Quell your guilt or distill

Your endless inner chatter

Into pure, intelligible thoughts

She cannot see inside your head

She cannot predict how you will die

Your companion does not like

Being abandoned

Or feeling used

Return if you observe

Drinking to excess

Diatribes of self-loathing

Defiance of your commands

Flights into the night,

Returning bruised,

And discontent

Laughter in the darkness

Trapdoor memories

Or regurgitations of the dead

And remember,

She is only a pet

Not your mother,

Not your lover,

Not your friend