Autumn with Magpie, Pomegranate by Liz Lochhead this morning a cruel curve of black-patent beak, a single terrifying eye at my high window looking in – the cocky, glossy bulk of that big blue-black and white bird, its gleam, its stare – and I thought of Robert Lowell's skunk that would not scare but out in the gold of this October afternoon caught in a sudden swirl of leaves I think Corryvreckan, but tell myself we're still very far from winter’s washing tub and yes here I am happed up warm and out to buy whichever Halloween cake in the baker’s window is putting the best face on it, here I am with a pomegranate in my pocket like a bomb packed with garnets. a pomegranate, its scarred and shiny rind both buff and blebbed with russet like this air which rustles, crackles. I think late beauty is the best beauty as un-saluted but with a hop skip and a jump in front of me today’s tally of magpies flips from one for sorrow to two for joy.