It's Still Life

More Than A Voice

A Trill.
A B-flat shrill.
There’s a blackbird
in the laurel bush.

Sing to me your
birdsong.
Blackbird with an orange beak
warbling to the world.

Here. There. Everywhere.
I hear your voice over
the traffic,
the dog’s bark from

next door, the girls playing
up the street,
the ice cream van
promising sweet melting cold,

and the solemn tick of
Grandpa’s travel clock
that’s never left
my desk.

4Q 30/5/20 ©️ Misky 2020