Ann Jacob
The time of cow-parsley and daisy chalked banks –
High in a tree, a blackbird’s melodious call
sings freedom in the gold-warm sun, where dust motes dance
in hazy summer air and distant chickens cluck and drawl,
as pastured cows, with nourished, chestnut flanks,
browse rich green grass and slowly chew and laze –
with dark and melting eyes they gaze
to anywhere beyond the reach
of live protecting fence they know now not to breach.
Another time, another place –
birdsong above stark concrete space
from where, through high electric wires,
white faces pinned with huge dark eyes
stare hopelessly, by hunger carved;
huddled figures, gaunt and starved;
rough uniform striped prison wear
denies their humanhood; and where
they gaze through bleak imprisoning fence
to anywhere beyond, from whence
the blackbird’s song the only beauty brings,
they know they cannot have the freedom of its wings
nor breach live wires that corral them like cattle –
a charnel house awaiting their death rattle.
