Haslam Park

Gulls raided the Blackbirds nest

we’d been watching, the day

we told Molly about it

– and we’d never fit in again –

squalling darkly on the wing,

West of the swings and bowling-green,

for their portion of chick;

as the nesting birds slammed them.

People spread picnics below

and their offspring played loudly.

We returned and gathered up

the teal and speckled egg-shells,

flecked with yolk and blood;

while the arboreal choir carried on,

singing their blasted throats out.





Earlier version first published in Obsessed By Pipeworknd


2 thoughts on “Haslam Park”

  1. Grit. Again. Real grit. I know how much work can go into a poem but still you make it seem as though it’s effortless for you. I don’t know if it’s intentional but the entire piece is hinted at in the first and last lines, which when pushed together make that hint more apparent. Commentary on the state of us all.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love how perceptive you are, and the different meanings you see and feel in my poetry, thank you so much! The loud rowdy crowd in contrast with quietude and conformist versus contemplation are certainly issues I thought about. KatX


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