You're rubbing shoulders,
sings Brian Ferry, for My pleasure
thanks to a free-ranging I-pod
as I pull into Reservoir High's empty car park.
Twa magpies conspire on asphalt.
One actively beaks a discarded chip packet
seeking morsels while the other waits.
The seeker seems to see that inversion is required
But it is beyond him.
Ferry flicked, I emerge
just in time to hear a celebratory morming warble
issue spontaneously from the beaks of both birds.
Their interweaving trills harangue the air
and bounce off the gymnasium walls.
I walk toward them. They skitter away.
Upending the packet completely causes
the last remaining skerricks to plop,
the packet bounces off in a sudden wind.
The magpies soar off over the oval
I turn to teach.
|