Listen Poem by Simon Bridges

Watching windsock's demands
neither credentials
nor camouflage
no experience required
bar patience,
suppleness of thought.

They inform of things
beyond our control,
reflect that which is,
all catch a last gasp
going vertical
in stillest times.

Between the flurries boredom;

I've heard others complain
they who fail to recognise
the slightest shift,
those that seek instant
changes of direction,
part timers
fair weather watchers
lacking conviction.

When watching windsocks one must recognise
that attitudes
like gusts,
shift in an instant.

All you have to do is listen.