St. Stephen’s Day
The wren’s untouchable, except today.
Once upon a time, we all turned out
to chase her through the village, all the way
to messy ends in middens and in ditches.
With drums and whistles, in a merry rout,
we solemnize the harrying of witches.
David Callin lives in what he likes to call the Deep South of the Kingdom of the Isles. On a clear day he can see almost everything. He has had poems in The Journal, Envoi, Cake and Prole, among others, and also online in Snakeskin, Ink, Sweat & Tears and Antiphon.