Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

I search the hieroglyph on the sand
The gull’s X, the tire rune, the sneaker tread
Some differing bare feet, the small cloven hoof prints
From a deer
My friend hates them
“Bang, bang Bambi,” she says
We observe them, disguised as workmen
Trying to fool us
It doesn’t work

I have come to the sea to be baptized
I go in and come back, chastened, wet only to the knees
Not like Aimee Semple McPherson
Who died that way
I’ll try again tomorrow
For baptism, I mean, or do I mean christening

The phone wakes me
My friend tells the police
A small stag is tangled in her hammock
By his horns

“Aha,” I say, “your deer trap worked”
She is not amused and leaves me to deal
With my coffee and the police

When they come
They wear tight jeans and are cute
I fumble for the towel they ask me for
While they joke around me
I drink my coffee and do not look
I hear the thrashing in the brush

And it’s done
Towel over deer’s eyes
They tell me and hammock cut
And of f he goes wearing a crown of string

The police want my name and birth date
Do they need my birth date? I give them my birth date
They give me the pink towel, unharmed

In high season this would be headline news
On the police blotter section
Of The Fire Island Times
This is my report

That evening I see deer on the beach
About four of them
They walk from pile of seaweed to pile of seaweed
Sniffing with startled disdain
Everything is greyed slightly in the sunset
Except the sun and streaks of cloud of peach
I walk in again up to my knees
Tomorrow is another day