silence of the crows

on-screen I climb
habitué of sunlight
into a sorta zen

rubato the wine
by my neighbour

who’s not embarrassed by
our pie in the sky
hi fivin’ lifestyle

slapping our eyes onto
mags and movies
the blue view ahead

and our ears into
in-flight telephony
we’re occupied

while terrorists tick
and hues continue
to zing

round this round
poor excuse for an

I’d be satisfied
with Saturday in a caf
in the high street

or malling around in the dark
waiting for that goddam

to burst forth in wrong
any chance of a chat
show hostess turning up

in the third act
played by dame someone
who oughta be younger

not pied or a paid up
political wench
someone straighter

and slick
a musical
nouveau guru

interrupting my
after dinner

with blogs from the periphery
and antediluvian

time was
when this sorta thing
was in character

those crows who made so much clamour
at nightfall are quiet now