The kittiwakes warble
And gulls synchronise swim
And dive
As hi-vis garbage man mops leftover haggis up off the street
And the gulls draw a final breath
Before settling for life on death row
And Mendelssohn mangles some music
Tapping the bells in the tower with his
Acoustic hammer – a prelude to day
Whistling as well –
A discernibly deliberate attempt
To get in tune with the birds
Whilst the dawn,
Shiny, pink and layered
Above turquoise sea
Posts its musical stave masts
Slicing and pickling
The doleful smell of morning.
It is heaven assuredly
As it is meant to be
Delicately intertwined with the
Unavoidability of hell,
The thronging tourist confirms this
And cackles his “Not in the dark ages noo”
A taunting and final lament.
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© Gary Boswell 2024
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