PS Cottier

That flag-pole must be magnetic,
pulling them in like soft iron filings,
throwing them down to fluttering lawn,
now carpeted in giant rug of quiver.
Magpies fatten on sudden protein,
flightless sumos, warbles muted
by wads of cotton wool moth.
Is it the twisted light, the hot rumble
that lemmings them here in Canberra,
those soft knock-knock jokes told
on Parliamentary windows?
The conga line of lunatics
dies, baited by abundance;
mistaking glare for moonlight’s
whisper, its fitting glove of glow.

PS Cottier

The numbers of bogong moths are finally increasing, after their numbers crashed in 2017. Drought and increasing temperatures were to blame. It’s great to see them coming back again; hopefully not just an upwards blip on a downward trending graph. Parliament House in Canberra used to sport very fat magpies who feasted on the moths. The flagpole referred to is the enormous one that flies the Australian flag over that building.

This poem was written back in those days where they formed huge swarms, and hid in discarded shoes. (They are flying to cool caves to multiply and die.) The photo, which does not really catch the numbers around, was taken on the south coast of NSW.