Currawong

Lands like a witch in the pond

A huge black fall from the sky

Shaking the order of things

On the day of redundancies

For 158 maybe possibly could be

Perhaps proposed just a draft

Next month or next year, black

Moods descend, we talk morale

Attrition and obfuscation.

To the wings flapping on the water

I declare my intentions

Hoping to pondwatch and meadowpatch

The real tangible living heaving bird

Calls for the rest of time while the chorister

Belts out the song of paradise regained.

 

 

Copyrighted by the author.

 

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