the nascent days of Vicugna Air

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

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