Vulture in a Cage

 

I was reading a collection of poems written by the 11th century Spanish author Solomon ibn Gabirol (1021-1058) and was much taken by the title of the book, 'Vulture in a Cage'.  It felt a really powerful image of frustration and so motivated this, my poem.

Cloaked in my feathered widow’s weeds,

I watch.

Stoop-backed and smouldering,

Slow-eyed and intent,

I watch.

I wait.

Never the first to the feast

Nor no latecomer am I

But pinpoint pointedly punctual,

My place reserved,

The table taken,

I arrive.

So now,

For now,

I need,

But sit,

And wait.

Not for me

That first fat gorging,

The easy-tooth mauling of the feast.

For I, with precious parsimony,

Peck and tease the marrow clean.

Nothing left to chance

Nor any else.

But see,

I am forbidden even this.

My mordant sentence I spell out,

Gnawed boneless by frustration,

A vulture in a cage.