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ANNY TROLOVE

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BROTHER, THIS IS FOR YOU

 

Like you can’t roll your rrrs,

like you hate you say wif not with,

I wonder if some birds,

the one at this pittosporum for instance,

has a compromised hundred voices

can’t eek at the end of his shuddered pirrup,

can’t round his guttural purr

in the way his clan are able,

their clean unit notes pitch-perfect

laser-tight articulate sweet clucks, bell knocks

aired from the pines, the feijoas.

Brother, did you know you sang last night?

We shared my guitar and you sang.

You sang and I liked it.

 

 

 

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