A blue and red
widow’s wig
       barely floats
       just its lips
touch the water’s
still meniscus
       and without will
       out of boredom maybe
though there’s no wind
her flowing locks
       follow
       a solemn twitch.

She would not have let
the eggs hatch
       to this stagnant fate
       of pet shop prisons
so she has been
isolated
    for her nature’s
    cruel mercy.

No opportunity to save
the future
     their suffering
     her stolen hoard inherits
barren plots of rock
plastic plants
       nutritional supplements
       to bounded nothingness
their only way out
the sky they sip.