Pamela Coren
New Season’s Blackbird
Oh you’ve got the full eye now, clown,
round as a bell with an orange rim,
straight up. No fooling now, half dressed
and shying at starlings. Turned up male
and black as the bottom of a well.
Eyeing me sidelong with a birdlook,
or one of me. You’d have to turn
to see the other but you won’t.
If a devil looks out from anything
it’s you, snook cocked in scorched leaves.
You couldn’t care less for heatwaves in your
silky gear, shimmying out of the lawn
cool as Sharif on his camel.
Here’s looking at you, yellow beak.
Welcome to the intemperate zone.
Page(s) 42
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