Competition

First Prize

Death of a Galah
by Rachael Whitaker

Useless muscles,
no longer flying.
No more life ahead,
the sky no longer your kingdom,
around and down
to the ground and out.
Feathers pointlessly ruffled,
no longer the semblance of a bird.
Crushed bag of down and hollow bone
twitch and cool
upon the packed red earth,
the same which stains the sunset red,
mourning the blood that seeped
from the cracks in your corpse,
The draining dribble of your ebbing life.

The long grass bows to death,
yellow and brittle.
The gums look on
their bark cracked, warped,
and scarred from a diet
of time and hard lost battles.

Clouds derange the sky's gentle face,
rain hunting down, in spinning glory,
the huge drops fiercely
wash away the blood.
One last pathetic flutter,
no more beating now.
The blood in your heart congeals,
your eyes stretch open,
reflecting all you can see,
as the opaque milky surface
blinds you forever.

Another car rushes past,
leaving you broken on the ground.
You didn't see it
as the red sun sinks
and the day grows late.