Whheeeeeeeeelll I'm done. Portfolio handed in and switched to relax/watch the athletics/play guitar hero mode. To mark the occasion, here is the last poem that I added to the manuscript.
Little Lucifers
The night is over and a gull has abandoned
a pigeon’s collarbone, or its splintered thigh-bone.
It skitters and skites by the daybreak lunette.
I am only a guest in my fourth-storey flat.
Did it see me behind the grey-clouded glass?
Did it have me in mind when it tore from the carcass?
Is there another bird so human as a seagull?
At the foot of the stairs is the bearable hell
of bottles, polystyrene, a pair of black heels
and a coven of gulls like the Morningstar’s angels.
Having balanced our garbage at the edge of the kerb,
I hear the screamed half-laughter of birds.
I will return soon. Thanks for reading,
Dave.
