Dragging your ailing failing self from a cold sick bed
To cough retch and splutter your way to the supermarket
For powders and pills and tissues and juice and bread
Whilst a cricket match half a world away crackles into life
High and ahead - sky high and dead ahead
Through the windscreen a shape turns and stops
For a moment time stands poised waiting but still
A kestrel pauses in the sky
Above where the viaducts meet
Fruitlessly trainspotting
On a Sunday morning
In the briefest of moments the air holds that stare of death
Coldest eyes seeking out the slightest careless movement
A dozen or a hundred or a thousand feet beneath its wings
It turns again a soaring striking moment already passing
There and then gone - right there and blinking gone
Shapely feathers silhouetted against a darkening sky
In a moment the timetable resumes yet still
A kestrel paused in the sky
Above where the viaducts meet
Fruitlessly trainspotting
On that Sunday morning
MAWH, 280118
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