The boy has caught an owl, from deep within the forest.
He’s tethered it’s large, pale yellow claws, and holds it out,
for fifty thousand; offering it as pet or meat.
It’s large and heavy, intricately feathered head, hangs down;
it’s little body punctured and slack.
‘Let it go,’ the kind man said,
‘Give it back to the wild where it belongs’
The young boy smiles in innocent ignorance.
There is his lack of empathy.
In his extended belly.
© Ingrid Andrew