First, they’ll capture you,
barter for you, exchange
money, the mark of ownership.

feathers falling

And then, they’ll name you;
your spirit locked in
English avarice, and manacaled history.

Two birds of one stone

Your days of “living wildly”
of self-reliance,
of cold and hot,
of sparse and plenty,
come to an end.

Clipped wings

For now, you’ll sleep safely,
eyes blinking in the soft drape of dependency,
But somewhere, 
in the distant recesses of your mind,
you’ll remind yourself that
you have everything you could want

in a cage.