Indian Mynas: singles, couples
The trident maple’s winter leaves.
Fought again, but not all day; more than half the day was sociable with resentments hidden,
though someone might have noticed how limply my hand lay in his; once we started, late in the day,
we continued till exhausted we went to bed with our backs curving in opposite directions.
Woke to rain. Woolloomooloo’s long, slant roof pale, washed. Three sulphur-crested cockatoos fly
by: their usual pitch dampened.
Rain again. The electric drill started once the rain stopped, then the metallic scrape of his cafetière’s
screwtop lid. I left my bed for his. Outside, two rock doves perched tiredly on the ledge,
throat feathers in clumps.
The zookeeper fed them—pineapple hunks, banana and, most prized, so reserved till the end,
coconuts. They raised black, shaggy arms and pointed to themselves, jumping like basketball players
to make a catch or steal a pass; some gave up and sulked, thinking she ignored them, but one,
right in front, persisted, till, in frustration, he caught a piece meant for one in back. We watched
with the rest. After the feed we walked down the hill and were gone.