THE ONES THAT GOT AWAY

Every now and then, people ask

what bird is that? Post me

doubtful snapshots on their phone –

blurred wings, a beak in shrubbery.

 

I puzzle out the glimpses shown:

to earn a small repute

as someone who may know

is year on year a guessing game.

 

My neck craned upward, seeking clues,

hush-stepped I pause pursuit

of feathered form before

song steals away, the call unnamed.

 

Or – to keep my shadow hidden –

stalk the hedgerow, scramble

through barbed wire. With patience test

a binocular field of view.

 

Or – elbows stiffly propped on knees –

for windy hours on end

I watch where sky meets sea

to mark behaviour, size and shape.

 

When claiming an identity,

note how plumage can mislead –

the only constant traits

are looking and humility.

 

x. 2022

DARKEST HOUR

When I tire of the wellness trade,

chafe at cut-price comfort,

then consent becomes a bomb

 

exploding inward. I would walk alone,

shake off dreary pleasantry.

For discontent must be there

 

even in the streets of heaven.

Beyond 24-hour convenience

night thickens in alleyways –

 

it is the landscape I must tread.

A mask in every pocket,

shadow no longer set by sun.

 

Air cools to its dew-point numbness.

Nose-to-tail the cars stand guard –

there’s a tinted windscreen

 

shattered like an asterisk.

I get around these vagrant roads

by cutting corners, taking

 

a straight line always

across the sleepless labyrinth.

Under the pavement, hidden hills

 

and buried water courses.

Striplight flickers through the pupil

of a window. My eye watching.

 

x. 2022

 

 

Dreich, Season 7