Two Geese

Two geese flew in the azure and dark grey of the impending

rain, two honking grey lag, I guess, heading to the woodland

like two low-flying Lancaster bombers on a victory fly pass,

Their necks pulled out, like coat-hangers used to break in

cars before the fancy computers and electrics, sending me

for my mobile, to take a shot, but gone, bloody fast, piss,

I wanted so much in my Chinese Emperor way, as to nightingale,

to keep them in the sky, have them with the thunderous beat,

lovers, locked into the picture of nature on a May morning,

unseasonably cold, the breath of frost still in the air, while

the W. B. Yeats comparison comes out of the claypit so to speak,

They have had a starring role in a poem before, can't get enough

of this couple, the swans with heads in pond, look like supermarket

bags from the distance of the bus, the moorhen like flowerpots,

Would you come again, the climax of the moment, so I can get high,

With the conversation of morning, nature, poetry and well-being,

You two jazzed up my day, just by doing what any goose would do.