She’s
got a bad reputation.
Dressed in morbid black
Squawking
She
doesn’t know when to shut up.
A tough old bird.
On a harsh winter morning
She follows me
As
I storm down the back road
Seething.
Her calls catch me
And
I stop in my tracks.
“What
do you want?”
She
tilts her head
With
curiosity
“Hello!”
“Hello?”
“Who
are you?”
“Who
are you?”
Cackling
She
swoops past me
A dark slash of laughter
Against
the snow.
Judgements
don’t matter.
It’s
all a game.
Life
is silly.
I plunk down in a deep drift and chuckle.
©Conni Cartlidge, 2015
