Ocean

Ben Wilkinson

Again they gather, wide-eyed and at the same time
each day. Hairless creatures, tap-tapping at the glass.

They see me, I guess, as some sideshow of the past –
monster of the deep, trapped and viewable for a fee.

The smaller types clamour, silently chatter, jump
up and down as I glide in, but still to a hush

when I centre my wheel-hub stare into their souls.
Others slouch, prod at screens in tentacled grip

or, loosening an arrow affixed their necks, shuffle off
cradling a slip of black gemstone to bowed heads.

The old I like best. When their ancient eyes meet mine,
mournful, I’m sure they know what it is to lose

an ocean, that endlessness, stretched out before you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s