Yellow green and a blue nose bump,
Came in a small paper bag
From a big bag of four,
Far from the warm southern sun
Streaming from Uluru to Lake Eyre,
And the distant salt scent of Spencer Gulf.
An excitement of yellow
A climax of chirping twittering then
Drinking a nearby lake dry.
Enjoying cool breezes down from the hills
On a cricket-loud night
Under the Southern Cross.
His home is with us now - a warmth of yellow,
A solitude of tears - welling and uncried.
A windowful of dampness
Obscures the smell of Spencer salt,
Swinging trapeze is not pomegranate trees
And their seeds of red pearls.
Clock tick silences the kookaburra laugh.
The clock is wrong -
Even the seasons are reversed:
Summer crickets are now winter icicles.
A frozen heritage -
He can outfly a diving falcon
But wire bars replace his southern stars.
No memory of swaying in swelling
Clouds a million strong.
A plastic mirror shows him he’s a bird.
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2016
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