SORRY

I have seen a wild thing feel, truly feel,
sorry for itself.

A small bird may drop frozen dead from a bough, true,
without (seemingly) ever feeling sorry for itself,

but I have seen a dog retrieve it,

all wiggles and shivers and pure dogjoy,
and drop it at his master's booted feet--
expecting praise.

And I have seen the hunter jab

the dog with the butt of his rifle,

annoyed with the pup's wiggledance,
his fuzz-flinging tango.
I have seen a wild thing feel
sorry for itself;
The bird was lucky to die living.