Soars over houses,
swooping and diving.
Wings elongated.
Garden wall gossips
hang around the gate,
their spy like observations
putting the world to rights
with hours of debate.
Wings flapping,
moves along the street
from humming telephone line
to green leafed tree.
Dogs barking at the postie,
going house to house,
humming the day’s top sounds
making his rounds.
Shorts on,
though the temperature is minus one.
It's a slog but an honest job done.
Over the green,
the feathered glider
surveys the scene.
Teens skiving in the park.
like a wolf pack.
They will still be there long after dark.
Crafty cigarettes and cheap cider.
Howls of laughter,
to drown the boredom inside.
Towards the town,
above the bakery
where the queue stretches out like a snake
slithering along the pathway.
Sausage rolls and sandwiches.
The Lunchtime getaway.
Pushchairs try to break through
the blue rinsed wall
but the blockade won't make way.
Over the local watering hole,
ale is already starting to flow.
Smokers shiver against the cold,
saying how they would love to pack it in.
They will before they get too old.
Charity collectors walk past shaking tins.
Supermarket shoppers go round and round
like a fairground ride that never stops,
they just pound the aisles looking for deals,
cheap reduced ready meals.
Through the choking smoky air.
Where factories pollute
and bosses don't really care.
He rests his weary wings
and watches the scenes unfolding.
workers pour out like a storm surge along a river,
shift ending, renewed vigour.
Ready to take on the evening,
now that the workday is out of the way,
it's time to play.
Over in the distance
he hears the grind, the fearsome tones,
heavy weight on loose stones.
Spies the column of tanks
Munition trucks in front of terrified eyes.
Armed forces of all ranks.
Marching in step,
to the grim rhythm of death,
as they begin to prepare
to pepper the air
with missiles and gunfire.
Thanks for reading
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