Long light of afternoon
lies on the grass.
Black birds and brown birds
pass and re-pass.

Two-thirds a natural span
having spun by
(eight-and-forty black years
baked in a pie)

living room is painted,
all but a wedge,
waiting for the pie chart
to meet edge to edge.

As the pie closes
birds begin to sing.
Afternoon is brim full
of sweet jargoning.

-------------------------

© Brian Fewster,
Published in Exit 21, 1998

Return to main poetry index
Return to home page