THE TIES THAT BIND
By Catherine Watson
1 Aim low
What happened? The annual lunch
of the corporate arseholes’ guild.
Some bloated plutocrat crapping on
about his vision going forward.
More like a hundred ways
to stuff the world. “Paradigm shift …
Results driven … thought leader …”
Yabber, yabber, bloody yabber.
Bottle by bottle, the talk got broader.
“Let’s line our ducks in a row,” said one.
Oh Christ! I’d had enough.
These guys are mental.
An avenging spirit, propelled by rage,
I sliced through air, landed on the lectern,
fixed them with a beady eye
and commanded “Nevermore!”
They hardly missed a beat.
Death’s dark vale doesn’t rate with
these blockheads. The only futures
they care about are franking credits.
A cocky saw what I was up to.
“Give me a go,” he said.
He landed on the table.
“Toilet rolls at Woolies,” he warbled.
The other cockies took up the call.
“Toilet paper. At Aldis too.
Aisles and aisles of rolls.
No limit. Take your fill!”
You should have seen them scatter.
Bloody cockies. I dips me lid!
They nail it every time.
While I mess with the super-ego
They go straight for the id.
2 Free as a bird
The same thing every spring
If I stand still too long
that damned raven starts
messing with my hair.
Free as a bird, they say.
How can you call a thing free that
suddenly starts weaving twigs
and doesn’t know why.
3 The open road
To be in or not to be in
That’s the question.
I’ve waited years. Finally!
She forgot to latch the door.
To fly, perchance to soar
in the wild blue yonder!
Oh heavens! What fears
may come so far from earth
must give me pause.
I dunno. I might fly right back in.
It’s kind of nice in there.
She’s got this new seed mix.
Paradise, “highly palatable
for your feathered friend”.
Winter nights are cosy.
She draws the curtains
Lights the fire and
turns the TV on.
Neighbours, nibbles, news.
Sometimes on a sunny day
she puts me on the porch
so I can talk to the wild birds.
I used to think … if only!
But I dunno, they seem
a little rough to me.
A little scraggly..
They sure could use
some Paradise mix.
“Feathered friends”
are well and good
but what would I
talk to them about?
To stay; to go;
No more Paradise mix;
or Neighbours.
No more her.
But soft, she comes.
Quick, back inside!
And pull the door behind me.
4 No strings
“No strings,” he said.
“Just try it,” he said.
“If you don’t like it,
you don’t have to stay.”
There are always strings!
5 The sudden tug
Why at dusk the sudden tug,
the overwhelming tenderness?
Daddy’s home, sweet peas.
6 So much time and space
“Chook, I heard it said
that when the fires came
and everything was lost
some people felt relieved
at the end of the old life.”
“And when the footy stopped
and there were no more meetings
or festivals, people marvelled
at so much time and space.”
“Chook, when I went shopping
and the shelves were bare
I felt an unexpected lightness.”
“Mistress, you grow more
like a chook every day.”
7 A woman’s work
The magical finish to the day
an effortless sailing into
a never-ending horizon
of greys and blues and pinks.
Oh damn! I forgot to get
something for tea. I’d forget
my wings if they weren’t screwed on.
Now where did I leave my babies?
8 My kind
But why an unkindness?
A conspiracy of ravens?
Officer, get me a lawyer.
I’ve been racially profiled.
9 The family curse
♫ “Oh what a beautiful morn …” ♫♩
Hang on! What’s so beautiful??
Lonely bird in a little cage.
Why burst into joyful song?
Wittgenstein would say I sing
because I have no choice.
That’s what canaries do.
Dulcet tones and delicate trills
are the family burden. Did my father
curse his father, I wonder,
and so on down the line?
Well this little bird won’t play the game.
No more singing till you open the door
of this damned cage and let me out!
Cage. The very word is like a bell
to toll me back from thee to my sole self.
And yet I’m trilling still.
Perhaps I sing therefore I am.
10 Set free
“Give me liberty or give me death,”
she said. They shot her.
12 My heart soars with hers
They said it couldn’t work.
“You can’t have a cow and crow.”
“Not crow,” I said. “Raven.”
“Crow, raven, that’s not the point.
A cow can’t be with a bird.
It’s not natural. It’s sick.
Stick to your own kind.”
My own kind? Heaven forbid.
That endless standing around,
chewing the cud, waiting …
“The grass is greener on the other side,”
we say, and wisely nod.
But no one does anything about it.
Not my Raven. She’s off on a whim.
Brings me news of what’s happening
over the hill and down the dale.
Ducking, diving, weaving, plummeting ...
To see her somersault,
oh bliss! Though earthbound,
my heart soars with hers.
Of course there were confusions.
She likes dead things. I eat grass.
She’s Cancer, a little bit fey.
I’m Taurus, of the earth.
She calls me her rock.
At first her voice grated.
But I’ve grown attached
to that gravelly caw.
She’s seen me at my worst.
The syringe of semen shoved in.
The midnight calf yanked out.
My daily waddle to the dairy,
Swollen tits swinging, Farmer Joe’s
angry curses and brutal blows.
And at the end of five years’ toil
the final journey on the cattle truck
from which no cow returns.
You thought we didn’t know?
We learn it with our mother’s milk.
Not that there’s too much of that.
Our time on earth is short.
Make the most of it. Enjoy
the nuzzle of the autumn sun,
the glory of the winter moon.
Friendship. Love. A feed of corn.
Be kind to one another. Don’t bleat.
The same fate awaits us all.
Even you and Farmer Joe.
You’re the ones getting and
spending as if there’s no end.
Even My Raven, queen of the air,
Knows it comes to all. The
downward spiral, the death fall.
13 No worries
Of course I don’t mind!
I don’t feel a thing.
But thanks for asking.
14 This one’s for them
Here’s to the ones who
kept playing the horns
as the ship went down
Here’s to the one who
held up a flower as the
tanks rolled into Prague
Here’s to the one who
didn’t give up her seat and
move to the black section
Here’s to Tank Man who
refused to stay home
after the massacre
Here’s to the one who
hired the blacklisted worker
and lost his own job
Here’s to the one who
said girls should be taught
so the Taliban shot her
Here’s to the one who
kept writing the articles
that annoyed the Kremlin
Here’s to the one who
never stopped believing
during 30 years in prison
Here’s to the ones who
linked arms and sang
as the firing squad took aim
Here’s to all the unknown ones
who spoke truth to power
and wore the consequences
Here’s to the valiant ones.
