Forward to next poem
 
Back to last poem
 
Back to Peter Finch page
The Seabirds
 
The seabirds are inland from their wrecked
habitat and rioting around our rooftops.
They stuff the street with uncouth squawking.
They have written to the council complaining
of our animosity but have had no response.
It has been reported that their yearlings,
giant children with foaming plumage,
are vermin. The gulls say this breaches
their avian rights and will sue.
The black bags in the street have been
broken open in a search for joy.
All that has been found has
been old meat and desiccated bone.
From the ridge tiles the gulls stare
as we satiate on beer and
television. A man with hair
on his palms says he has had enough.   
Do the gulls care? They donít.

 

 

Home