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.