The Stable

High under the rafters of this stable
a long-abandoned nest now occupied,
one bright blue egg appeared as spring rain fell.
Need and a certain pushiness on view
here, robins asserting their squatters’ rights.
Who dare displace them?  In this transom-beamed
and musty-smelling manger they will thrive,
feeding routines followed, bird business done.
There is something apt in this new-within-
old: high and low, beaks gaping for the fly
amid dung, straw and sweat-steaming haunches.
These brief intruders will as nature prompts
soon decamp their borrowed home. In due time
curious eyes will wonder, ladders lean,
fingers pluck the relic of an empty shell.