Gulls and Politicians

'I have never known birds of different species to flock together...

if that happened, we wouldn't stand a chance!' Alfred Hitchcock

 

 

We coast on campuses, eye up the best

roosting places - fly high, stay above

the proles so, when they look up,

they see white wings against bright blue.

Wind and rain doesn't penetrate our plumage

while those on the ground get drenched.

Our chorus drowns out gasping fish.

 

Chicks can be swallowed whole,

a pensioner attacked, crusts seized

from a girl's mouth. We don't hesitate

to gorge on the tastiest bits, dive

in dark reservoirs to preen dirt

grey feathers, yellow legs -

rinse blood from our beaks.

 

 

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Going into Touch

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Across a drenched field players position

themselves strategically beneath floodlights.

 

A crowd's breath is held. They know the rules.

In this game there's no restriction on holding

 

the ball in one or two arms. There are no limits

to the number of steps taken. Attackers

dodge the opposition and, when tackled,

they're able to kick in any direction. Lines

 

can be crossed. Cheers fill the stadium, driven

on rain to the underbelly of the city where a man

struggles to get up from the ground. Homeless,

he may never escape the scrum as he tries

to find shelter in the park. Sometimes, he scores

in the shadows, dreams of being on a winning team.