Seagulls and Other Things

This was written at Queens Park recently.

Seagulls and Other Things

Seagulls crouch in puddles of white and grey,
dotting the green and sometimes
stealing children's food -

but now they are like statues,
not vultures,
one preening with his scalloped yellow beak
another with a grey beak,

balancing on one webbed foot

this is where he belongs,
no question

He eyes me but I have no food.
In the distance the screech and whir
of the children's playground
and the descending circles of muck
on the pond.

the seagull walks off,
unimpressed, and I remember coming
here when Jude was too young to run
and experienced the green and the seagull
and the pond through his passive senses only

and how my loneliness has dimmed since then
now that he accompanies me
in speech as well as body,

and seems to say he loves me
when he looks up at me,
breast in mouth,
and says 'baby'.