Poem of the Week

The Heron by Paul Farley

One of the most begrudging avian take-offs
is the heron’s “fucking hell, alright, alright,
I’ll go to the garage for your cigarettes”
cranky departure, though once they’re up
their flight can be extravagant. I watched
one big spender climb the thermal staircase,
a calorific waterspout of frogs
and sticklebacks, the undercarriage down
and trailing. Seen from antiquity
you gain the Icarus things; seen from my childhood
that cursing man sets out for Superkings,
though the heron cares for neither as it struggles
into its wings then soars sunwards and throws
its huge overcoat across the earth.