I floated through winter
On a river
of booze
And washed up
in spring
Like a
castaway on a rock,
Staring up
confused
A cloudy sky
Waiting for
swifts to arrive.
But I only
see seagulls
Wheeling above
Screaming and
laughing derisively
At my self-pity
Whilst people
are entombed alive
Beneath the
bombarded steelworks
I can make
up all this nautical seagull stuff.
But I can’t
imagine what that’s like.
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