A Comparison

This is in syllabics with a count of 9 and 10. I thought I wrote the poem with feminine endings throughout, but since I can see three which are masculine perhaps I was slothful or memory is mistaken. Too late now.

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   On Friday, fourteenth of November,

Two Thousand and Fourteen, in a south-west
   Suburb of London, the afternoon
Was calm after a wet and boisterous
   Cold front had passed through in the morning.
The wind was still, the air warm, the heavens
   Rinsed blue; level banks of cloud barely
Drifted eastwards, widely parted, glinting
   In the sopping sunlight. They recalled
In their horizontal sections pigeons’
   Wings, curvaceous and elongated,
As the pigeon folds them on its body.
   But most, with their sheen of translucent
Grey-purple texture, as smooth and polished
   As ice, they suggested the fillets,
Plump and moist, of skinless breast of chicken
   I’d purchased earlier in Waitrose.
Well then, I would eat the clouds for supper.

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© November 2014