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  Geoff Stevens
   
      NIGHTHAWKS

The churring call of approach
mechanical clicks in the darkness
two-note radio signals from outer-space
ghostly puppet-string aliens
jerky flying-toads that suck goat's milk
reptilean spirits of the unbaptised dead
corpse fowl feeding on funeral piles
sweetening their carrion tongues
with the wing-pollen of dusty moths
their haunt the wild of Wales
the Suffolk Breckland
the North Moors
and the German War Cemetery
on Cannock Chase
A sight of them presages death
and on confrontation
they will hiss at you like poison snakes
 

 


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