Saturday, 25 April 2015

Poem 24 /30 Table for Three

Table for Three

That bright, fresh April morning

where sunlight jimmies its way in

through the smallest fissure in the curtains,

making your alarm clock redundant.


Sunlight that won’t be ignored.  

Wakefulness floods in

no matter how deep your sleep,

it is now evicted from your body.


Drawn to the window to inspect the day,

my eye is drawn to movement on

garden table and chairs.

A blue tit, breath of feather and


coloured blaze, hops and twitches:

armrest, table, chairback, table,

different chair, table and so on.

a full inspection then in a blink, gone.


The absence saddens. Until…..

three of them alight, food in their tiny beaks.

Use the table for breakfast, though wild birds

they can still be civilised.


I like to think, Dad came in first,

scoped it out, ensured its quality.

Having satisfied his criteria,

made a reservation.

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