The blackbird on our fence
is protesting freely
across several keys
about excess competition
in this morning's song contest
while the starlings are grouching
about the lack of sun catching
their petrol green plumage
and the invisibility of chimney tops
in a beauty contest world.
Children pout and slouch
on their schoolbag daily trail,
about the fickleness of weekends,
Sunday's fleet timidity
in the face of Monday mornings.
From this year on their parents,
too busy pulling rabbits from hats
to notice Machiavellian tricks,
can say hello to prison walls
if they ever protest again.
Harry Gallagher
