Who were you GD?
Your name spirals from the
top of the Turks’ head, twined
sensuously into the narwhal’s tooth
with such regular precision;
each knot tightly wound before
the finish, 3 inches from the ground.
She’s aged well, for all her travels,
how far did she take you? Once she’d
swum between the icy depths
between arctic coastal waters, did the
dark swills clogging the Medway
Were you sure of who you were, GD?
The man about town, hand
in hand with the narwhal, chasing that
unicorn dream of respectability.
In the wild, male bulls bellow and
charge. Blood flows, the damage done;
The smarter animal
displays his teeth; a
good show nudges confrontation
to a dance.
Signposted, every one can
find their place. Oil
floats above water, if
the water stays very still.