Short Partridges Poems

Cue music,
I’m sitting on my childhood bed,
Flowers emanating off the spread.
Osmonds, Partridges, “Me and Mrs. Jones,”
Stewart’s “Do you think I’m sexy?”

Magazine posters, boy bands, smiling large
Donny cheeks. Records dropping, spinning.
Scratching. Little sister inhabiting my space.
So what if it’s her room too.  Mosquito.

11/14/2020...

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Snow chickens dust the high moors.
White partridges grounded by rain
crouch and huddle
burrow into the gorse

then as if forgetting the storm
heave up into the wet air 
just a little way
cluck, bluster, and rattle,

only then to settle back
scolding and flustered
as only termagant ptarmigan
can.

Binoculars tight to eyes,
soaked, ankle deep in mud -
chilled to the bone.

Highland cattle 
stare back blankly
as if I were another 
silent P....

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Snow chickens dust the high moors.
White partridges grounded by rain
crouch and huddle
burrow into the gorse

then as if forgetting the storm
they heave up into the wet air 
just a little way
just enough to
cluck, bluster, and rattle,

then to settle back
scolding and flustered
as only termagant ptarmigan
can.

Binoculars tight to eyes,
soaked, ankle deep in mud -
chilled to the bone.

Highland cattle 
stare back blankly
as if I were just another 
silent P....

Read More