Geese

They, with arrogance, march in self-adorning majesty

tyrant and empress of the track, oppressor of the tympanum, in cocky poise
honking in gratuitous fashion, unconcerned about the noise

a plethora of guttural pollution, stretching necks bending
to beat the new grass for a titbit of questionable hygiene, unending

in their absence of thought for the rest of the population here
the Chinese boy on bike, Malay girl on walk, Toyota in first gear

A short wing flaps in irritable gripe, wayward as they stop for a bit
to gaze, finding interest in the rough road-top of coarse, loose grit

or in a rusting chain fence; there’s intellect for you, pomposity



compare them with the dusky cows of a wet, coconut tree twilight, where

without much tact, they crash through the undergrowth like a commando
bump, break, keep going, (for the most part), uninterested in posing in their ego

just silent-running, unassuming, keeping in a tight, linear group
unaware that I, apropos of the primary posse, am now trying to recoup

their attention, a continual struggle, but in a nice way; they are, in truth
more interested in the motion of the garden, passing neighbour, bike youth

than the key word reading scheme, or mathematics, or colours of the rainbow
I, impatient, watch them work out, in meaningful humour, content when they come and go

Geese, they amuse me

a pity when they’re gone; now, we get naked thunder in the twilight air