The scene from the seventh.


The rain has moved on for now.

The gulls gather to sip from puddles

on the flat felt roofs.

Other showers tread toward the city,

I see their beat-up bodies advancing closer.


From the M.D.’s office on the

seventh, I sit back in a leather chair

and savour the view.

To the south, islands of green

shade the sea and to the north

the hills are silence in shadow.


The clouds have become many.

I can’t see beyond

their first few ranks,

and what little light breaks

onto slate and wave

is quickly consumed.


There is no halt in sight,

only the winter storms splitting the

channel water in two, 

like columns at the point

where ancient allies meet.

This Christmas day noon

I’m working shift yet she

is far away I see the

battered shore and

the cold streets uniting

against the coming thunder,

Like parents

witnessing their child’s

ingratitude for the very first time.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s