an impossible swan.

‘In a shed out the back of seventy one

she hammered bird shapes from metal

for business and fun. Sparked feathers

became an impossible swan; trumpeter

black from raincloud of iron.’

I recalled these lines from an earlier scene…

and thought, I’d play him now almost the same.

The same, but slightly differently –

in a way I couldn’t have done then.

And maybe, she would have smithed flamingoes

or herons, in a shed out the back of seventy one.

*

the impossible swan shit haiku

i wash cutlery

i watch rainwater on glass

i whisper that past

the pass

enger sid

e. howl we roll x