wherefore art thou

 

Mrs Magpie has written a poem on my lap top

                                                  M/////////ccx!\\\\\\§§k

                                                  [[[[[[[[[[[bxxxxx==

                                                  ggghggggggggg///////111

A very thought provoking piece with an experimental line structure.

(Pocket later wrote one himself that appeared to be about his existential angst and lack of food and this too had an interesting and modern line structure.)

I used to think Mrs Magpie was a bit of a housewife - her white front feathers look very much like an apron and she goes about the house picking up errant crumbs in her beak and tidying away pens and bits of paper. Here she is looking smug on the Smeg. But now she seems to have taken a wife herself.

A few weeks back at around 6.40 in the evening I looked out and saw she/he had been joined on the little table in the garden by another magpie. And every evening since they sit together in the apple tree where they spend the night.

The other magpie is very nervous and flies off as soon as she sees me though I can't help thinking she was the one I raised this year. I've no idea where she goes in the day but she flies to the table at 6.40 regular as clockwork and they canoodle in the apple tree. Sadly it's always so dark I can't photograph them together but I can hear the response from passers by Ah two for joy.

Having lived with one for sorrow for over  a year that is a blessing I suppose.

Now I can see my magpie with another I notice M.Magpie is much bigger and therefore more than likely a male though I'll probably still refer to him as Mrs Magpie. He may be speed dating but it seems his consort is the same one and I'm waiting for him to steal one of my rings as an engagement present. If they set up home together their nest will be made of pens.

On one occasion I went out before dark and she flew off. M.Magpie landed crossly on my shoulder, told me off with a loud squawk and pecked my ear. I apologised.

If on the odd occasion she hasn't turned up by 6.40 we both wait anxiously for her - me hidden upstairs and looking out the bathroom window and MM sitting on the roof of the pink tower surveying the scene and calling in a voice I haven't heard before 

wherefore art thou .......?

Here he/she is helping with the tomato harvest before he/she started writing poetry and waiting for her to turn up.

Pocket meanwhile is fed up with all this magpie palava and said he was going to write a book of jokes, Really? I query. Is that possible? I can't remember you ever saying anything funny. He stared at me. Too much possibility leads to the mad house. Ah you've been reading Kirkegaard I say but he ignores me.

How do you tell the difference between a weasel and a stoat he asks.

I shrug, as far as I know he's never brought either into the house.

Well a weasel is weasily recognised but a stoat is stoatally different.

I wished him luck with his book.

Meanwhile Rocket said he hadn't been fed since Christmas and would have to eat this cushion. After that if anyone comes to the gate he would meet, greet and eat them.

Dogs

We went for a walk

together you and I

you and your stick carrier

and me with my ball fetcher.

They jumped with each other.

Your growler howler, rabbit chaser

deer bringer downer

fox poo roller, garden digger

ran.

My tail wagger, food gobbler, cake stealer

sofa surfer, cushion napper

wet noser

came when called.

Yours disappeared 

into the landscape.

L.Coggin