Bird Market, Mong Kok

A poem, a poet’s note, and a writing prompt

Photo by Katherine Thad on Unsplash

At dusk, it quietens slowly –
cages are covered with thick hoods,
birds chirp reveille before sleep.

Booths still sell packets of seed,
jewelled swings, tiny bird treats;
a woman pushes plastic bags
across the table and a thousand
grasshoppers and crickets
leap and crackle together.

A dusty, bedraggled macaw
shifts on his perch.
Eight canaries squeeze close,
a rainbow of yellow and orange,
heads dipping into sleep.

In the corner cage, a bulbul flutters
and jerks like an over-wound toy,
red cheeks flashing in the gloom.
Who trapped him from his woodland perch
and crammed him in his tiny prison?

He can sense the sky and trees
above him somewhere, bangs his head
over and over
on his new horizon.