In the post midnight
Cool of a wet May Wednesday?
Why the fascination with a pair of swans
Who hold their heads under the rippling surface
And pay us no heed as we make them mythical?
They stay together forever, you say.
But still they show no interest in our liquid-fuelled fun.
They still hold their heads under the river’s surface, startling you.
And then a solitary ship sloths slowly by,
The latest centre of our attention.
But we had to wait too long for it,
And it meant nothing, was just a distraction
From the white-winged elegants,
So we stopped our waving.
And anyway, we’re still shivering.
Our musings turn to art and how it’s made,
What words mean and what they’re worth,
And how great it must feel
To create something wonderful.
It’s a little bit too cold,
Even with fluid fire in a flask,
But still we bask
In the freshness of the night and become philosophers.
Is this why we stand here,
Shivering at low tide on a little pier?
Another mouthful and satisfied sigh,
Another strange car’s lights flash by,
And as we all panic together things start to make sense:
We stand here shivering together as friends.