Better than Television (Magpies in Snow)
Listen to Lesley's poem ...
Snow covers all the hedges in a thick, soft duvet.
The neighbours load the bird table with customary crusts
and leftover chips from Friday night.
Magnificently-made, fat-bellied, the colour of jet, petrol and coconut ice cream:
Here come the Magpies, uninhibited and wise.
Look at their round and springy bounce, blundering clumsy like feathery
clockwork toys, but forgive them their hugeness and dominant ways,
for their canniness and curiosity. Look at the glee
in a Magpie as he surveys, waddles, taps, digs and hooks
up a chip, with infinite fascination and patience. The usual scrum
of jackdaws - occasionally, a rat - compete for the spoils,
much elbowing, many tumbles. But snow is soft and good to land in: they all bathe, jacuzzi style.
Bouff! One Magpie, massive chip in beak, lands roundly in the hedge-top snow.
Waddles, bends his head, stuffs the chip right down, covering the evidence
by smoothing over, neatly tucking-in, like bedmaking. He flies away.
I’m doubting what I see. And then, the same routine enacted like a ritual
for a second time. The bird flies off again. Five minutes pass.
Jackdaws retreat to safe flat roofs to eat in peace, as is their way.
… then, here comes beach-ball Magpie, back again, to the exact same spot
of his first buried chip. A bit of digging with his beak, retrieves, scoffs,
then back to the bird table for total clearance, now the competition’s gone;
clever, clever thing.
Yes, Magpie strategies in snow. Better than television.
The neighbours load the bird table with customary crusts
and leftover chips from Friday night.
Magnificently-made, fat-bellied, the colour of jet, petrol and coconut ice cream:
Here come the Magpies, uninhibited and wise.
Look at their round and springy bounce, blundering clumsy like feathery
clockwork toys, but forgive them their hugeness and dominant ways,
for their canniness and curiosity. Look at the glee
in a Magpie as he surveys, waddles, taps, digs and hooks
up a chip, with infinite fascination and patience. The usual scrum
of jackdaws - occasionally, a rat - compete for the spoils,
much elbowing, many tumbles. But snow is soft and good to land in: they all bathe, jacuzzi style.
Bouff! One Magpie, massive chip in beak, lands roundly in the hedge-top snow.
Waddles, bends his head, stuffs the chip right down, covering the evidence
by smoothing over, neatly tucking-in, like bedmaking. He flies away.
I’m doubting what I see. And then, the same routine enacted like a ritual
for a second time. The bird flies off again. Five minutes pass.
Jackdaws retreat to safe flat roofs to eat in peace, as is their way.
… then, here comes beach-ball Magpie, back again, to the exact same spot
of his first buried chip. A bit of digging with his beak, retrieves, scoffs,
then back to the bird table for total clearance, now the competition’s gone;
clever, clever thing.
Yes, Magpie strategies in snow. Better than television.
This poem is copyright (©) Lesley James 2024
About the Writer
Lesley James
Lesley writes for young people and less young people. Many of her stories and poems for children are set in Lesley’s Garden, where a cast of birds, beasts and minibeasts live. She loves playing with words - rhythms, rhymes, tongue-twisters - and telling real tales. Nothing is more funny, thrilling or entertaining than the real life you can see from your own window.
