The Heron Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Cement is lashed to a frenzy by showers of rain,
Envelopes sigh like fans at the postman's knock,
Piglets scream like kettles
As the mash bin announces its coming;
Beads grow incandescent beneath a chandelier,
And have you noticed how cash-cards
Twitch when tills start to ring?

Gatherings, meetings, events,
Have their effects
In crowded rooms.
There are definite modes of behaviour.
Definite ways of being in the world.

I learned mine
From the heron I saw
By the long pool last midsummer.

Shifting from one leg to the other,
I watch the silver river of trays flow by.
I dip and sip,
Dip and sip
On the edge, on the cool periphery.
Conversations rise like mayflies,
Drift in snatches over the busy rooms.

The door is near
The yellow evening
Waits outside like a taxi;
Waits outside with the trees
All rustling green