AFTER THE FEAST

by Kevin McAuley

Now the meal is over.
Only bones and scraps of meat remain.
Birds twitter at the back window,
Eating the black bread you set there.
Falling away, like pendulums,
They swing low over the trees
And disappear northward,
Carrying the touch of your fingers
Inside warm bellies.  

Poem copyright © 1994 Kevin McAuley

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