Mockingbird Aesthetics

Its beady eyes staring down into the sketchbook as it sits immobile on one side of the bulletproof glass, one multi-jointed leg slouching over the other’s knee, the articulation of the ankle joint splaying the neon yellow scales and raincloud-grey claws heavenward, only there is no Heaven right now. Right now is ward, a prison block that the public is not meant to know about, except now that I am here, they will.

“Ah, you’re here.” The mockingbird’s eyes flash into their natural grey-brown from the sudden upraising into the tubular lights of the visiting chamber. The beak, though two-dimensional and fixed, seems to smile in a j-curve. This being fixes me with an intense welcome gaze like none I have ever encountered before, even in my work of exposing that which directors of these places would rather we the people not know about.

“I was wondering if you had a roach problem,” I start, and of course a subject of this unusual state would have a “roach problem”. By that I mean bugs. By that I mean hidden recordings. I sense the master of natural plagiarism is intelligent enough to understand the code. The beast (beast? Really?) nods, the black rubber of its lip edges turning upwards—definite smile.

“One or two that I know of. Can’t be helped, really. It’s the state of the building I think. That and Mr. Wallace can’t avoid dropping a bit of crumbs and teriyaki chicken fragments every now and again.” The cloudy claws tap lightly upon the underside of the table. The bird’s face is rather placid, but deep down I sense a bubbling uncertainty and eagerness, what one might call a nervous anticipation in humans. Well, that would be the point of view of the directors, those who view this mockingbird as worthy of caging.