Going Feral
I choose to eat outside because it's cataclysmic in there.
In the cafeteria, where they perch on plastic chairs.
Chirping away in flock hysteria.
Frantically peck-pecking away the crumbs
All of them are slowly going deaf -n- dumb.
They'll flitter off, gullets filled with gossip and shop talk.
To play solitaire on filthy keys.
I choose to roam outside their hellish squares.
Trying to stay off my knees whenever possible.
I choose to eat outside the burning carousel.
I fear that I might be going feral.
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