Bryan Teague
A Window Of Opportunity
The iron-pumping wind carries
The rampaging sea’s foaming anger
Across the harbour wall and over
The pointing finger of the clock tower,
While here I stand, cabined
In my lounge, watching the feathery
Tentacles of the eucalyptus
Tree writhing in the streaming grey of sky
Oscillating masts of buddleia
Dancing a reel, and the dowdy skirts
Of the fir hedge riffling and lifting
To the quick tempo of the beating wind.
A tousled flight of herring gulls
Hurtles into view, gliding the air,
Hurled along their skewed flightpath to drop
Behind the roofs of the shuttered cottage.
Grounded by the confining storm,
With oceans of ‘time to stand and stare’
I watch the chaos with feline grace
And wait for the storm’s guns to fall silent.
Page(s) 4
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