Oh lusty feather,
Who once poked the spines of those
who leaned for comfort
on overly expensive throw cushions.
Spine meeting spine.
You once clung to the back of a brown spotted bird
of some kind,
If your brown spots are any indication–
And I think it might be–
Although I hope it wasn’t a flight-less bird
Lest my metaphor be screwed.
Some minion of a captain of industry
Plucked you from flight
And stuffed you with your brothers, sisters, cousins thrice removed
and possibly some ex-girlfriends
Into a puffy square
Locked by a zipper.
Zipper’s a funny word isn’t it?
But you, brave feather
Did not accept your fate,
You worked your surprisingly strong spine through layers of fiber and self-esteem issues
I will not be pigeon-holed!” you declared without even apologizing for the terrible pun.
And this fateful morning, you found yourself outside of your prison of comfort
Not far outside, mind you,
(Perhaps that part of the plan wasn’t entirely clear to you)
But outside nonetheless
Released from your confines, your boundaries.
And now, what adventures await you?
I could glue you into my book
A prisoner of unlikely metaphor and strange poetry
But that would not be true to the spirit of my ode.
I’ve endowed you with the Homeric spirit and so off on your Odyssey you’ll go.
I will assist you in finding a portal and a small gust of air,
Because we all need a guide and a favouring breeze,
But beyond that, you are perfectly equipped for the journey.
Happy travels Little Feather.
It’s considered good form to send a postcard now and then.