On Gordon's Bench
By Bee
- 1302 reads
Suddenly she is there, plomped down
from nowhere bouncing on a too thin twig
of a branch facing my window, and when I venture
out squinting in the cold morning light,
she doesn't do that stroppy vamoose thingy
with the over-flapping of the great black wings,
but sits slant-heading a question at me, 'wanting bread?'
I get my coat and start walking to the shops
with her, hopping and flapping behind me - annoying!
'Go away!' I bark - she only answers with a squark.
Some say they can be taught to talk, mimic more like.
For me they only ever announce death.
I buy a bunch of flowers and place them on the bench
outside the shop where all the other bunches are collecting
rain running ink tears through the blurry little notes.
There's a bear, a bottle and a couple of cans of beer
that out of respect, no one's touched. Cheers Gordon,
rest in peace. Such a gentle soul is bound to be missed -
a permanent fixture. Philosopher - soaking up the sun.
Have a fag on me, mate - just one of the messages
scrawled on a propped up card. He must have smoked it -
I looked, but there wasn't one. I head back home,
my angel of death bouncing and hopping comically
behind me, knowing she'll get fed in the end. Pleased...
I think she left a message of her own on Gordon's bench.
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Comments
I particularly enjoyed the
I particularly enjoyed the first verse description of the bird, esp bouncing on a too thin twig,
– and that last line! Rhiannon
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Hi Bee,
Hi Bee,
it's nice when someone special is remembered after they've gone. These are caring words, the kind that let that man know that he was thought of, even if while he was alive he didn't know how much.
I too found the angel on the shoulder an interesting thought, leaving their own message.
A thoughtful poem indeed.
Jenny.
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