The Poor Thing In The Zoo

A philosophical query of what constitutes a prison, or cage.

I saw a poor thing in the zoo today,
Staring at me in its poor thing way.
And I pondered the bars separating our kind,
It on its side, and me on mine.

"Do you long for freedom?" I asked myself.
"Or are you content to just sit on your shelf?"
"And get free medical, food and all you desire?"
"Anything your well being might happen to require?"

Then I thought of my freedom, or what's said to be.
Am I really so free in actuality?
With taxes, obligations and working all the time?
My windows have bars to protect me from crime!

If I don't work, I don't eat, or have a place to live.
Is my life really not mine? To all others must I give?
My obedience to laws and customs I find insane?
More than you, am I a prisoner on a chain?

It blinked its eyes as if to laugh at me.
Perhaps, to say "If that's 'freedom', then it's not for me!"
"I don't pay taxes or have a job I hate!"
Move over Poor Thing! You've got a new room-mate!