Still life eyes sweep the perimeter
for truant gulls.
The man at the end of the jess
wears a migraine red top,
echoed in a rolled up tabloid.
The screaming puns throttled,
it juts from a pocket
like a schoolboy’s hasty homework.
The smart phone is welded to his ear.
The owl makes soft ripples
of wing span music.
Someone’s on the train somewhere.
Just beyond the top of the square,
Desperate Dan keeps heading West.
Gulls stay off the radar while
the owl plays a nocturne.