Diana Webb

Corvid

Robed in black, with epaulettes like those from suits of armour seen in the Tower on long ago school trips, we sit behind plate glass in front of mirrors. Some scalps are helmeted with tinfoil plates, new formulations keeping hoary growth at bay. As I settle for a simple trim with feathered fringe, the glossy pages spread across my lap tempt ... baubles, bangles, beads.

through a porthole pane
a jackdaw
pecks at the cracks