Birdsong

The magpie rattles at 6am every morning
A machine gun alarm clock
Its voice box brimms with ammunition

Tomorrow I will get out of bed and throw an object at that feathered firearm

Tomorrow comes
As does the magpie with its rounds of blanks

I rise from my place of awake
Take a book from my dim bookcase
The winter sun won't exit its quilt of cloud today

Tiny bits of gravel are magnified when barefoot
I throw the book at the Magpie
Birdsong falls to the ground