Breakfast at Lenore’s

I recognise the birds’ advance
from swoop of pinions as they land:
a pair of blue-grey pigeons,
iridescent fuchsia areolas
ringing throat and neck, are plump
and burgerlich in their aplomb;
round eyes bright as boot-buttons
direct a bland shop-keeping glance,
wings snapping back to folded mode
like Chinese ladies’ fans.

Sharp-eyed bookie-butcherbirds
can gauge the odds like seasoned punters;
gimlet beaks are primed for meat
morsels they snatch out of her hands.

Crows swagger, street-smart mafiosi
sporting jaunty black fedoras.
Having learned the knack of dunking
charred toast scavenged from the yard,
they take the proffered lumps of mince,
the longed-for slivers of raw liver,
thinking themselves clever
when they dip them into water
to accelerate the thawing process;
gargling them down.

Other birds make beelines for her house
at any hour they please. Lookouts
in the eucalypts that tower in her street
spot her from afar on shopping days,
escort her to the door, wheedling
in tones denoting long familiarity
before she can draw breath, insert the key.

Jena Woodhouse’s publications include two poetry collections, a novel, a volume of short stories and an award-winning children’s novella. Her poems have twice been shortlisted for the Montreal Prize, and she has received residencies at Hawthornden Castle, Scotland, and, in 2015, at Camac Centre d’Art, Marnay-sur-Seine, France and at the Australian Archaeological Institute at Athens.