Sunday Poem: Wattlebird*


Looks like that wattlebird’s taken over this district.

Moved in like the Mafia. Even the cat

knows it’s too big to handle, and the neighbours

have gone quiet. Its quacking cluck

first woke the neighbourhood a month or two ago

and now it springs you everywhere.

Hidden in gardens, it’s shredding

the first fine shoots of roses, tearing up

the baby’s tears. Have a go, it clangs

to the quiet of the well-bred street,

go on, loser, take me on.

It moves out of the trees on to my fence.

With a politician’s nerve it stares me out.


*First published Triptych Poets 3 (Blemish Press 2012)


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