Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                     Parlements of Foules

The Parlement of Foules of whom old Chaucer wrote
Meet yearly on the Feast of Valentine
In Venus’ temple to negotiate
The noble rites of love and life and youth

The Parliament of Birds on my front lawn
In their several sub-species negotiate
Their seeds and crusts with outraged squawks and shrieks
But in the end manage to satisfy all

Good Parliaments of Birds are of order and rules
But humans elect poor Parliaments of Fools

It’s not the heartbreak that screams.
It’s the silence that follows.
The way someone becomes a stranger
while their memories still live in your chest.
How they laugh with others the way they used to with you—
and you pretend it doesn’t sting.
You act okay.
You smile.
But inside, you're mourning someone who’s still alive,
just no longer yours.