Two blackbirds, a speckled thrush
& a myna casually shit upon the deck
regular each morning, peck the wooden
cat bowls & when I surprise them, leave.
I end up with these friends. I’m no Snow
White but I do like to feed them which is
my fault, I know. But who knows, because
I don’t think that accounts for it entirely.
Last year this cat moves in. I’m at
the front door as he jumps the fence,
brushes past my leg; puts his bag down,
showers, takes a long stretch, & curls up
on the sofa. WTF. The other cats
don’t like it but what can you do?
Today I wiped the deck & tied nylon string
across the posts, 40 mil above the railing
which I’m told will put the birds off.
It’s the next day now & only the myna came,
which is not as good as nothing but ok.
So, what: am I reduced to this state
The soul may yet rise
as the flesh declines. Because.
When I lie at night some-time
dead tired.. I’m, not there
anymore or, yet sleeping..
I’m nowhere I know or
no place at all.
Miles away. Even
the crimson flowers
of the Pohutukawa
do not claim me.
The house & garden.
Victoria Street. The Museum.
Where I am
makes no difference
to my situation,
which colours everything.