reeds

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Reeds


The reeds have been talking.

Last year it was the river:
Its cosy gloom below the zoo bridge
Where the lads plunged through the rails,
Waking the animals with their unnatural splash,
Upside down gurgles in the car,
And the lights working sideways in the murk
Minutes after the thumping ceased.

Police wet and heaving, naked on the bank.
Behind the wall, the tiger opened an eye,
Peeled back a lip, and yawned me to the shallows.

Now the reeds are talking.

This is a relief.


Philip White












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