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For all our suburban concerns, the starling cares
Not one whit, having her own brood chirp for more, more,
In endless chorus, and washing machines natter
Regardless of rain, sun or blustering tempest.
Were it not for the growl of machinery over at Buckley's
A door slamming as a young wife goes out to shop,
Hammers banging joist and beam, there would only be
The harsh chucking of honeyeaters, finch-chatter,
Mother starling's flat flight across the near valley,
Dogs in polite exchanges, magpies' sweet carols,
And parakeets' assertion of territory.
In a still moment, I hang up the day's washing,
Lay bedding to air over the veranda rail
Hoping that the promised change would keep its distance
Until mid-afternoon – at least things will be dry:
So I keep my eye on the neighbour's weathervane –
It points north – brindled clouds float from right to left
As a westerly begins to sings its cool song
Of maybe, perhaps not: the radio mumbles
With inane pensioner whispers in a far room.
From out of the black depths of a eucalyptus stand
A solitary raven emerges, cuts east
Between houses and another tall clump of trees
To go scavenging in the local school's waste bins.
All this and more: the morning bulletin is bleak
As our winters can be in their nastiest mood,
And the telephone's woes are no less full of tears,
Tales of a friend's slow dying and his son's return:
Whatever spring has promised, we must wait awhile,
Let the days find their own way towards the year's end.
Edward Reilly ©2005
Newtown, Geelong
Posted 1 July 2005
Copyright Edward Reilly
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