Gleaning a broken road surface,
pigeons hold out
until it’s almost too late
to escape a taxi turning into the street.
As if it’s torn loose from a different sky,
a square of blue moves through
the deepening overcast.
Pathfinding for echeloned jets
rehearsing for tomorrow’s parade,
it passes from east to west.
On the face of it, we’re in for change
–
or more likely a recurrence –
as the old guard practise their
footwork
and the rain, when it comes,
brings green back to the trees
and washes out all consequence.
Image: Marina Shiderova; text: Tom Phillips
