By Gareth Culshaw


You can walk past one if quiet enough

and even then it will only be a hand-glider

throw out of a tree. The walnut brown wings


stretching out into the air. There is no urgency

in its flow. A rough sort of flier, can be harassed

by the corvids. Misunderstood by gamekeepers


and such like. It is library gentle all day, just

pottering about, wearing its baggy trousers. Running

like a chicken after scurrying creatures.


Conker feathered, herring silver under each wing

this bird is not a swimmer of the sky but

more a heavy wagon plod. Occasionally they will


go to the clouds, circle and nasal shout at the land

below. Before perching as a neighbour in a block

of flats watching the passing people go by down below.