Highly Commended
Feisty these darling seaside overlords
these pointy noisy birds these reelers-in
of upturned eyes painters of camel humps
or blown bubbles shadow shapeshifters
above the West Pier’s rusty stumps now gone
now there there! as you reach for your phone
these jerky joky cranky birds trill thrill
turn their last but where will they drop
and roost when the murmurating ends where
is home? Do they slip into gutters purple
and green down the Regency backs under
ledges pediments derelict tenements
chimney stacks? Duck into hidden niches
slimy nooks on wrought-iron parapets
onion rooves squabbling shoving jostling
each other settling down for the night
under cover a thousand bodies one breath?
Do they dream of angles dips making shapes
whatever they mean or just the salt scruff
of each inky feather atop its own and shuteyes
waiting for daylight the call of tomorrow’s sea?
Or being one tiny piece of life or being free?
