He sits facing the window.

A poem about a captive howler suffering life in a city apartment

He sits facing the window.
He looks out on a sky that is very small.
He sees trees that he cannot climb.
And things he does not understand.
He sees a foreign land.
Filled with people not like him.

He sits facing the window.
He sees rain but does not comprehend.
He sees it but does not feel it wet against his face..
The wind blows but only scatters paper in the street.
Not a refreshing gust against which to brace.
He sees a foreign land.
Filled with people not like him

He sits facing the window.
He looks out on a sky that is very small.
He sees trees that he cannot climb
He sees rain but does not comprehend.
He sees it but does not feel it wet against his face.
He sees a foreign land.
Filled with people not like him

Once he had a family.
People just like him.
He remembers red tails in the sunshine.
His mothers loving face,
He remembers her falling.
And the white hand tearing him away.
Now there is nothing.
Only people not like him.