A white synthetic body,
gold patterned plastic wings.
It swoops above our garden,
flutters, flaps, glides and shines
against the summer sky.
I stand below and look up
at the featherless bird; amazed
by how it moves, its grace.
My brother beside me; proud
he knows how it works.
It winds up, getting stranded,
at the top of a dead oak.
Tired from its exertion,
or looking for a mate,
it perches there, but does not sing.
Motionless it seems to eye
the heraldic Liverbird, trapped
in stone, at the top of our house.
The Liverbird eyes it back
but neither of them fly.
I beg my brother to rescue
our bird, to bring it back,
but he says no, the tree’s
too old, too high, too risky.
But I know I’ll get my way.
A white rayon bomber jacket,
camouflage combat trousers.
He shins up, above my head,
clambers, scrambles and silhouettes
against the summer sky.
I stand below and look up
to my daring brother; amazed
by how he moves, his grace.
My brother above me; proud
to climb all the way
to the branch where it landed
at the top of the dead oak.
Tired from his exertion,
or looking for his prize,
he perches there, but does not speak.
Motionless he seems to eye
the mechanical bird, trapped
in the tree. Grabs it, grips, teeters, slips;
silently they fall together
