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Dead Magpie

written by: Polly Oliver

@Polrocksnbones

 

All signs point to violence at the end
At this quiet end of the cul de sac;
Death-sullied gentility.

Flurry of grey in the last flight of feathers,
Under-down flung from matchstick-boned body-
Nakedness the last indignity.

At the hands or claws of what?
Whose maw would tear head from spine?
Bare vertebrae spike, an obscenity.

Did your hoarse screech send waves of shock
Down still, grey air? Black beak
Wide with pain, bead eyes panicky?

Jerky swagger stilled. Pied, green-black startle
Of a bird wind-scattered now.
A blue feather-eye glows with fading vitality.

Polly Oliver

Polly Oliver

JAN/FEB 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
A mother of two boys, scribbling from the Western coasts of the UK, mainly poetry, but whatever comes out really. Former journalist and PR professional, the first whispers of middle age and declining eyesight made having a real go at 'real writing' a little more urgent. A Cornish native, I made my home in South West Wales so the sound of the sea sighs through my work every now and then. Lover of nature, yoga, boutique coffee shops and occasional (and very dreadful) surfer.
Polly Oliver

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