Starflight

by Richard Hartwell

I cannot resist watching the free-form
flight of charcoal sparrows in Costco,
flitting among the ceiling joists and
beams and machinery, appearing as
wayfarers, imprisoned now with
carnage and carcasses displayed for sale.

It is not so much as how they flew
surreptitiously through open vents,
invited by the roller-doors raised on
receiving docks in back or perhaps
encased in the shell structure when
newly roofed, obliterating the blue of sky.

Rather, I wonder if any want to leave
when surfeiting on overripe fruits or
vegetables left out at night, unsold,
un-retrieved spillage on aisle eight,
dropped weekend samples, not to
mention flies, the moths, and young rodents.

So they seem in no desperation to
depart this enclosed, contained domain;
perhaps our star-crews of the future
could learn from remnants of avian
reptiles, cocooned, satisfied, serving
life within a world, rather than without one.