Twitter by Paul Brookes
Swift and wood pigeon
On the telephone wire, swift twitters quietly,
eyes never still, watching the flight of insects,
specks of food floating by, millions thick as pollen.
Pigeon coos gently, the rumble in the throat
a matronly reassurance addressed at no one in particular,
her companion, the world below.
Hunger triggers, impatience, a longing in the wings,
and swift launches slicing the air, gaping,
swallowing, scything through the insect-pollen
with high-pitched shrieks of joy.
Pigeon rumbles, unruffled, then ruffles,
preens, one eye on a stalk of ripe wheat going nowhere,
rooted fast, toasting a little more in each minute of sun.
Swift returns, hunger momentarily sated,
folds long sharp wings, tail feathers,
while pigeon launches, rising high then folding wings,
gliding on air-cushioned billows, effortless,
energy-efficient, dropping with the earth’s pull,
to land firm and solid where the wheat grows.
Swift pirouettes, nervous energy a coiled,
uncoiled spring, snaking after clouds of midges,
microscopic flying things, dancing on nothing, fresh air.
Swift laughs at pigeon’s bulk, mass,
airborne in a flurry, wings beating
until the updraft carries her high, higher,
and she lands, perched daintily on the wire.
Pigeon hears the laughter, the vacuous
long-winged arrogance, and thinks,
Beware, stubby-feet, too-long-wings,
the earth has no love of your kind.
Keep high after your fizzing, frothing food,
for once grounded, you will never rise again.
Jane Dougherty
Bios and Links
Jane Dougherty
lives and works in southwest France. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems and stories have been published in magazines and journals including Ogham Stone, the Ekphrastic Review, Black Bough Poetry, ink sweat and tears, Gleam, Nightingale & Sparrow, Green Ink and Brilliant Flash Fiction. She blogs at https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/ Her poetry chapbooks, thicker than water and birds and other feathers were published in October and November 2020.
The Wombwell Rainbow 