When you come to stay, you’ll stay In a box,
much like any other. With its own rich vein
of concrete running between two green
rivers of grass; supporting islands of tainted
leaves too corrupt to remain at home for another
season. A bird feeder stands lonely sentinel in a
changing Eden, the only nod to nature’s needy.
Where a magpie, whose beak shares the accuracy
of the boxer punching a moving bag, eats the once
yearly offering of seed from its moving target.
And two black – ringed turtle doves, the epitome
of Athrodite’s children, throw a lovers spat over
the single bird feeder. Whilst mellow music
drifts upon the same wavelengths as the
shrilling calls of the birds. One, more
harmonious than the other.
A dog, lying in the heated comfort of the box,
tries to urge a bark, but settles for a growl, at
an autumn intruder. It’s head following the
ostentatious jig of a robin, like a type writer
Jarring between upper and lower case. This
fleeting balsam that comes once every year,
tasting of deep velvet shiraz, willingly shares
its richness with those that bring a glass.
No rights witheld. That’s what you’ll see
when you come to stay. If you look.