a bag in a tree (no magpie)

it doesn’t seem right
to have a bag
on the tree
in the place
where I’m used to seeing
Magpie

a little bit lower
but
that’s splitting hairs
on a tree that speaks to me
of morning
and Magpie

and it’s too high up
to grab it

too high up
to shake it
loose and free

too high
for anything but staring
at a bag
in the tree
where I’m used to seeing
a Magpie

it’s not right

it’s not fair

it’s a plastic bag
that holds nothing
but the passing breeze

and a noise
enough
to displace
the Magpie

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© Frank Prem, 2017

September 2017 Poem #6: toast miles at the brek-café