Gary Bills
Morning Drift
Still summer, and the huffing of balloons
Disturbs our sleep with thoughts of morning giants
That have risen free from dreams with much impatience
To be weightless and diminished by our sky.
Their shadows cross the tiles and bend round chimneys;
Heads of sperm whales melting into ink,
Black tentacles of squids, that cannot seize
Our aerials, - our cold, substantial drainpipes.
Hear them sigh! Exasperated monsters,
Too weary to be heavy, but too heavy.
Soon they'll land and gravity will drink them,
And leave them nothing more than rippled skins.
Only a child, waving from her window,
Will watch their crayon colours flare and swell,
Will see the picnic baskets brim with faces
And catch the piped "hello!", as they drift by.
Page(s) 15
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