Lunchtime ritual, by Britta Benson

A fun one about birds today. Or, a little snapshot of my garden. Here goes.

Lunchtime ritual

The two woodpigeons,

I call them Mr and Mrs,

meet on the bitumen sheets of our shed.

Their relationship unstable,

rocky at the best of times,

today, I’d say verging on volatile.

Lives are at risk, world peace elusive.

On the ground, in the seed covered spot

right under our bird feeder slot,

two collared doves,

legs stilting, heads tilting.

I call them Mr and Mrs, too,

and yet, what a difference.

They pick, they flick,

the good into the pot,

the bad into the crop,

stumm, unhurried, civilised.

I notice their disapproving looks

towards the noisy rooftop drama.

‘Brings down the tone of the entire neighbourhood’,

one coos to the other in mock posh disgust.

‘Back garden riff raff’,

Mr Dove replies unimpressed,

and that is all he’ll ever say regarding the matter.

Meanwhile, in front of the house,

seagulls don’t bother with etiquette.

There are only so many ways you can fight

over the scraps of a guttered fish supper.

You see, we’ve got it all here.

Daylight robbery next to the roadside.

Sniggering comments on the state of affairs.

Domestic disputes fought beak and tail.

All within a few yards of my kitchen sink,

while the robin, the blue tit and starlings galore

dart in and out of my little world,

providing the chirpy soundtrack to this play.

And I aks you, honestly:

Who needs a tv, a book, a phone or a paper,

if you’ve got a garden full of bleeping birds!

2 thoughts on “Lunchtime ritual, by Britta Benson

    1. Thank you so much for your encouragement, Stephanie. Much appreciated. I’m still at the very early stages of my life as poet, finding my feet, so positive feedback does matter a lot and makes a world of difference to me. I’ve got a plan for this poem. It may become part of a submission for an arts project in Wolverhampton in March. Still working on the details. If it does make the cut, I’ll put the link on the blog.

      Like

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