A Tripleshot Poem
Posted: Sun Aug 28, 2016 4:08 pm
This poem, composed by the poet Dvora Levin, was read aloud to the assembled group at Starbucks on Sunday August 28 2016.
A MEZMERISING MURMURATION
Early Sunday morning at the Fairfield Café
Lycra starlings land one by one,
Scatter the silence with their chittering.
Shoes clack against the sidewalk as
they rush to gulp their triple shot caffeine.
Gregarious by nature, more starlings wheel in,
exchange names, recent travelings, mounting up
when the leader calls time, welcomes newcomers,
reiterates the goal of companionship and mutual care,
rules for keeping together their murmuration in flight.
Changing course and speed with their closest neighbour
as all flocks do, ever alert to calls of steady up,
car up, car back, slow for walkers, someone to fall back
to back up the slowest rider, except for Group A,
those suffer-fest flyers who go as fast as they can.
With muscled thighs, shush of wings, off they fly,
Silhouetted against the morning sky; an undulating swarm
ruffling the air, leaving behind a café, so silent,
so empty, it already yearns for next Sunday morning
when the Lycra starlings glide in once again.
Dvora Levin Aug. 2016
A MEZMERISING MURMURATION
Early Sunday morning at the Fairfield Café
Lycra starlings land one by one,
Scatter the silence with their chittering.
Shoes clack against the sidewalk as
they rush to gulp their triple shot caffeine.
Gregarious by nature, more starlings wheel in,
exchange names, recent travelings, mounting up
when the leader calls time, welcomes newcomers,
reiterates the goal of companionship and mutual care,
rules for keeping together their murmuration in flight.
Changing course and speed with their closest neighbour
as all flocks do, ever alert to calls of steady up,
car up, car back, slow for walkers, someone to fall back
to back up the slowest rider, except for Group A,
those suffer-fest flyers who go as fast as they can.
With muscled thighs, shush of wings, off they fly,
Silhouetted against the morning sky; an undulating swarm
ruffling the air, leaving behind a café, so silent,
so empty, it already yearns for next Sunday morning
when the Lycra starlings glide in once again.
Dvora Levin Aug. 2016