I went to a pilot's house,
the skies looking hopeful as all hell
whistling freedom and potential in the wind

All as you would expect,
family portraits and navigation tools,
cupboards with cans and sustenance

I saw that at one end was a row of birdcages,
dilapidated and rusty metal bars
holding together fallen feathers and feeble fowl

I asked, "Why?"
failing then to see that it was him,
in fact, who had been caged all his life