The Gathering (Poetry)

Early — too early for most
sleepers moulded senseless in their beds
eyes and ears closed against the gathering
of starlings up and down the street

Who knows why they chose this venue —
this long drowsy row of semis
out of all the others in the town?
But here they come to crowd
the local phone wires sagging heavy

They regiment themselves — line up
along the ridge tiles — hunch tight
on the crossbars of TV aerials
their usual chatter much-muted — hardly audible
as they wait for more to come

Like streamers thrown at a bon voyage party —
thin dark ribbons out of nowhere —
birds appear and land wherever
there is perching space. As minutes pass
their numbers grow and grow ...

Until they seem a vaguely threatening horde —
an avian invasion force heads cocked
ready for the order to attack
whatever target they’ve a mind

A longish pause

And then a rising ripple
as feathered shoulders nudge
take in a breath and abruptly lift
synchronous almost to a bird
they circle once before
heading off
their destination sure
as group sat nav
the lead starling pulling clear
by a length