Poetry


Tuesday, February 9th, 2010



Mynahs at dusk

Marian Webb


By the town-hall in Chapel Street
in the plane trees towards sunset
a huge noise of birds crescendoed.
I looked up.  The sky was colourless.
The bare branches criss-crossed in silhouette
and the shapes of birds, vague and globular,
swam like bubbles in liquid celluloid.

The trees, the lit sky, the tumultuous
birds the size of apples—
but grey and with dark birds' heads
that fluttered and hopped
like turbulent leaves
twittering and screaming—
the town-hall's white façade

held me in twilight
as the crowd swept south down Chapel Street
past the darkening shops.


*****

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