Clive was for many years chairman of the Society. This poem was published in Folio #72 in 2018.
Turdidae Blackbird chases Thrush through the flowerbed; they share a family name but don't get on. That's the thing with taxonomy; it finds two small bones that match and you're linked forever. Take a funeral: the strangers who coagulate after the event - aunts, confused whose sons we are, nephews who've grown a foot or grey since Gran was eighty, cousins claiming to be soul-mates and with whom we swear to stay in touch as we did when - what's he called - their second-born was named. We wrap a wing around each one, insist they call the minute there's a chance and hone our beaks in case they have the cheek.