Thoughts for a Cloudy Day

  by David Chorlton

From the lovebirds who roost in the palm tree next door
to the speckled brown pigeon who pecks
with the rest of his grey shaded kind
and the grass just staying alive
as the seasons change,
nothing shines

the way it does in sunlight. The view out of the window here
could use a coat of varnish. A hummingbird
hovers at the feeder; all motion,
no colour. A house in the next block
has all its doors open today. An estate sale

is taking place with the nineteen sixties going cheap
in the form of vinyl discs and dated décor
with a radio tuned to the past
playing quietly. It’s a museum for a day
offering the chance to lean back and listen
to some brassy but casual music, drink a cocktail on the brown settee
and page through a magazine that smiles in black-and-white.
Across the street

new occupants are painting the house inconspicuous
but it’ll look better
when the sun comes out. It’s a day
the cats tuck paws beneath their chests
in silence. A day when thoughts
drift off and return later

like the grackles coming back at dusk
to settle into trees that hide them.
A day without a date.