Bird Poem

Charee, charee, cheerup –

Birds call now through the night time.

They've lost their disillusionment,

They want it all to end.

They say I'm sick of not having tear ducts,

They say fuck off and leave me alone

At the core a sad lament, a lost intent,

a dented faith, the taken thing,

the done thing.

The thing is, I hardly meant a word of it.

It almost strung itself out and I just happened

to stand there and open my mouth.

Leave me alone.

And the thing is – the very thing is –

it had almost nothing to do with birds

I can't even recall birdsong

as we walked the grounds of the manor

and came to stand at the lake's edge.

I know someone threw a stick onto the frozen surface

while I stood there thinking how fragile the ice seemed.

The clatter was like long steel cables being beaten

with sticks.

I threw a few more on and walked away,

but I never wanted to stop listening to that sound.