in Writing

Kings

The swans of Naas
don’t know their place.
Waddling the white lines
Oblivious to road signs.

A car moves like a sloth,
Waiting for the lift-off.
White wings widen and rise,
but only to display their size.

A neck is bitten, retaliation is swift
The procession comes adrift.
Children screech, drivers glower
Stuck behind idling horsepower.

Clouds open and lighten their load
Engines stop and block the road.
A barking dog shifts to a howl
and gallops at the unwary fowl.

A host of honking cracks the air
At any moment a war could flare.
But the swans of Naas return to water,
Ending a momentary lapse of order.

© Fergus Cassidy