The Freak: Come here often, or is it your first time?

The Man: (Looking around anxiously) I know not of how I came here, good sir,

but oft to quote are the denizens here,

“See the Freak, see the Freak,” at my queries

that those queries transformed themselves thusly:

“Who’s the Freak?” but still they chant, “See the Freak.”

‘Til I say, “Where?” and direct me they here.

The Freak: (To a stuffed parrot) Comes to see the Freak, but not to marvel.

(To the Man) Your questions will do little to serve you.

(To the parrot) All asked questioned that now say, “See the Freak.”

The Man: What is that parrot you are talking to?

The Freak: (To the Parrot) They ask, but they do not listen to me.

(To the Man) The Parrot is dead, like all men will be.

Alive he parroted men, though dumb beast,

repeating the phrases he overheard.

Stuffed and lifeless, though in a lifelike pose,

parrots he now only wisdom. Behold.

(To the Parrot) Tell me all that you know, speak parrot, speak.

(To the Man) Alive he had half of wisdom, to speak,

and dead he possesses the other half.

The Man: Why do you keep for yourself this dead bird?

The Freak: Hold I out my arms and look, one be short.

See you now my face, it’s barely a man’s.

Nor belongs it happ’ly to beasts either,

for then, with them, I’d be counted no freak.

You, Man, start at this misshapen body,

prefer you not the sight of this parrot?

Don’t answer, you only have more questions.

You do prefer gazing at this red bird,

and yet this bird is dead, while I’m alive.

So, like truth we, a pair, do show to you

what is pleasant holds little when counted,

and unpleasant truth is hard to stomach.