The Geese

Their honking cry is heard
before I see them, large unwieldy
on the grass
The male regards the domain
his long neck erect eyes alert
The hen calmly devours grass
fresh from the tidal surge.
I smile to myself glad they return
despite my neighbours’ hostility
An hour slips by, both still there
Good I think, this is their home.
Then I hear a commotion, honks
flapping wings, a man is running
with a stick towards the geese
He throws a stone too, missed –
Thank God. The birds escape
onto the river, indignant, confused
by this aggression.
They will be back, I know and
they know, this is their home.
At night I hear their calls
When settling on the pontoon
safe in the darkness.


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