Giles Watson

Giles Watson

Posted on 07/19/2015


Photo taken on July 18, 2015


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seagull
poem


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Whetted

Whetted
Whetted

Black-backed gull on your watching-stone
with the tide all around you and the sunlight
glancing through the foam, I love how you
half-turn to look at me without bothering
to shift your legs or raise a wing, then switch
your gaze back towards the tanker, chafing
at its anchor in the Sound, and beyond it,
that white wedge of sail, and I wonder
what you think of these quaint contrivances
and this camera which glints its blinkless
eye at you, catching the sea in mid-spit,
and its smoothness as it surges over stones –

but more likely, gull, you don’t give a shit:
I’m dismissed almost instantly: not a food-
source after all, and what other interest
is there in human beings when at any instant
you could unfold yourself like a penknife
all stropped and whetted and slicing into sky?

Poem by Giles Watson, 2015.

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