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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