#140 Kevin Brophy 'Bird on the runway'

#140 ‘Bird on the runway’

Norsemen set sail for enemy shores in burning ships.

The wasp set its nest just where the window snips.

A long-legged bird stands still on the runway listening

to a flying engine coming down towards it, thumping.

The child unwraps a word, new, crinkled, brittle, sweet.

The Norsemen held their breath until the sails filled first.

My lungs, he says, when I breathe I cannot fill them.

Warrior Norsemen took neat packed lunches with them

on their murderous adventures. Are the children really

going on a bear hunt with some coastal English family?

As puddles dry up we try to memorise their treachery.

Norsemen knew what they shared with the burning sun

and each alighting day’s refusal to look back at anyone.

A litter of greying sentences lie fallen beneath each tree.

Norsemen set sail for those enemy shores singing the airy

songs they learned as children when all they feared

was the wasp, the bear, black water and red beards

on strolling trolls. The children say, knowledge bristling

along their speech, it was the emu or a brolga stood there wondering.