Seagulls
Seagulls grow on our chimneys.
Next door, one stands on two matchsticks, Pecks at the cowl, gives up, and looks round At the billowing roofs.
It struts on the tiles, it screams, 'Why aren't you edible?'
Its world has gone hard. It looks round At a frozen ocean of tiles.
Down on the sea front the cars Watch the waters; the people inside them Nibble biscuits and newspapers, Stare at the weather through glass.
If I were a seagull I'd never keep still.
I'd ride on the thermals, I'd slide down the wind, I'd paddle in air, I'd be hunting For fish and for females all day.
I stare at the seagulls through glass, Turning them into words.
They perch on the TV aerials, Telling each other the story.
Below them my neighbours are watching A programme of 'Life on Earth'.
The crackle of living that comes up the chimney Dislodges them, one by one.
They lift up their wings with a yawn.
Laurence Lerner
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