Waiting for the train, listening <br />to the blackbird singing <br />across the railway line <br />I whistled a musical game with it <br />of call and response, <br />variations, show-off riffs; <br /> <br />the blackbird listened, <br />held its head a little to one side, <br />crisply hopped onto the iron rail <br />and I thought myself mighty clever <br /> <br />as we played our musical game, and <br />it flew across the line, a few yards nearer, <br />swiftly, with clear intention <br />onto the platform two yards from me <br /> <br />and the whole world turned on me <br />as I realised I had no idea <br />whether it was playing at <br />blackbird makes friends with man <br />or whether it was planning <br />a swift dart at this rival’s eyes <br /> <br />and I felt humble, stupid, ashamed, and yes scared, <br />to have intruded in this blackbird’s life; <br />stopped whistling, turned away <br />and pretended it was just a game, <br />knowing now <br />it wasn’t.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0051-the-blackbird-of-truth/
