Poetry: Canary by Lucy Whitehead

Canary

My body is a machine. 
I've learnt to hear 
its hum and crackle 
its whirr and rattle
               its drums, 
the bright yellow bird 
that sings in my chest, 
hooked up to trip wires, 
electric fences,
                switches 
that get flipped. 
When the flapping starts
                I listen 
to the faint feathered voice 
within its beak. 
We have a better relationship 
now 
all the mechanics
                are fixed, 
and a tin can telephone 
for backup.