Every Wednesday
they string-up
lines
all across
suburban skies
four black lines
before the blue
of a startling
clear sky
then birds come -
lorikeets to crows -
to perch and
meditate
*
Thursday evening on dry earth
by the wetlands
bright orange-striped wasp
and greyhaired spider
fight on the run
wasp dragging reverse
spider's legs leaping
dry brown
blades
They move
jerkily over dry grass
like a toddler’s crazy writing
on scrap paper
I stare and can’t tell
who drags who pushes
the thought comes to me
I am standing like
my childhood self
staring at the ground
as the world went by
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