Late September

Feeding on the lawn
among umbrella-
black starlings,
a flash of blue:
a small parrot, someone's pet
gone native
or set free.

eating breadcrumbs
like the rest, to
overcome what must
certainly be the
shame of chance,

gathering among city
others who know in
small bones and
oiled wings
this strange
forthcoming
sadder season. Evenings

cold among
the trees, to wait

for things
that can't be
guessed

Rosemarie Koch

If you've any comments on this poem, Rosemarie Koch would be pleased to hear from you.