Gulls melt into the grid re-emerging as liquid
mercury edging clouds with silver
the man in the green shirt left poisoned
hunks of bread in strategic locations
the water deep here and oily aswirl
in black and brown flickers imperial
with gold flecks and purple depths
a tall man lives beachside in a rooming house
his endless motion powered only by hatred
this brooding day proving that rain is inevitable
an armada of dark umbrellas primed to pop up
from crowds of hats and heads flooding the pier
the ship long underway cutting across
the dirty sea ignorant of the corpses
of birds unsure if it was ever really here.
Poem by Paul Ilechko
Image by Adam Strong
Paul Ilechko is a British American poet and occasional songwriter who lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ. His work has appeared in many journals, including The Bennington Review, The Night Heron Barks, Southword, Stirring, and The Inflectionist Review. He has also published several chapbooks.
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