he paused mid-meal
mid bite
mid
chew
in the field
a stirring
among the birds
wings flapping
an ungainly interval
if thrash and flap
and run
a duck?
a goose?
ibis?
no
this time
a heron
all beak and neck
and commotion
the large birds
appear to struggle
with the mastery of their craft
eventually
achieving lift-off
and something rather more like flight
than reverse disintegration
the heron departed the field
he bit
he chewed
swallowed
regurgitated
chewed again
if it is
so hard
for a heron
to rise
then he
freshly shorn
and de-fleeced
could not hope
to rise
he bit
again
into the lush grass
of his paddock
and contemplated
this
would require a great deal
of thought
© Frank Prem, 2017
March 2017 Poem #12: bay bed
260318
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