Sparrow

In the parking lot

of the big box pet store,

a lone brown sparrow

flits and hops,

a displaced sprite

in search of

the discarded French fry,

cellophane with a smear

of something edible remaining,

a stray sunflower seed.

She is too consumed

with her tenuous survival

to notice all the people

returning to their cars,

with bags of overpriced kibble

for their kept,

chosen animals.

She doesn’t know any better

and perhaps that’s why she

looks happy:

she doesn’t know envy.