A PIGEON FROM PORLOCK, A CRITIC IN THE HEARTH
There was a sudden and prolonged smattering –
some of the chimney’s ancient debris
falling lightly to earth – in the grate
close to my desk, then a clattering
against the metal back of the gas fire,
a shuffling of feathers, a scratching of claws.
I stopped writing. I guessed that a top heavy
wood pigeon – one of a number that perches
unsteadily on our gutters and ridges
and chimney pots – had toppled down the gloom
filled now with the rattle of broken brickwork.
To disconnect the gas, unscrew the fire
from its backing plate and have the dazed brute
flap around the laptop or find the creature
entombed beneath a tumulus of grime
was never really an option and yet,
for days, with the continuing chatter
of falling bits of masonry the bird
might have set bouncing off the brick-lined chimney,
my conscience was troubled: there was something
uncivic taking no action about what,
by then, must have been a death in a hearth,
putting aside the seeming indifference
to the dying. But supposing I had been
some latter day, domestic Howard Carter
and opened the tomb, filling the room with soot,
and found the bird had flown?
Ashen
July 26, 2024A few memories resonate with this troubled conscience…
An injured creature
Beyond our means of rescue
Robs peace from our heart
Kate Harrison
July 26, 2024A lucky escape for both you and the bird. We had a similar corvid incident which eventually resulted in a plague of flies emerging from behind the fireplace. The circle of life!!
Ian Craine
July 27, 2024A dilemma, indeed.
Elise Oliver
July 29, 2024A tragicomedy, indeed, imbued with pathos. The latter element counterbalanced by my vision of you as a ‘latter day, domestic Howard Carter’!! I know Sylvia has the patience of a saint but I can only imagine her reaction if you had actually disconnected the gas and unscrewed the fire. I also suspect that you haven’t mentioned the dilemma between conscience and cba.