drift reservoir
The reservoir at Drift.
It is evening.
Deserted picnic benches, fishing signs.
Tension – depths of dark water,
a high retaining wall.
I walk along the parapet.
I look down.
I look across.
On the far shore a dead swan lies
breast blown, rib cage exposed,
feet blackwebbed leather,
a far scattering of feathers.
Hurriedly I walk back across the parapet
where my friends wait.
It is a silent eerie place.
I would not like to be here
on my own.
Ann Foxglove
Mon 12th Sep 2011 15:29
Thanks Greg - maybe an idea I can indeed work from then! (Give it more depth if you forgive the pun!)