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This poem contains gull song
This poem contains gull song not song. as such. so much as guttural injunction: a music we forgot how to understand, since it lacks that carefully planned sweetness sounding instead of black-shod clockers-on, the splash and clack of shop fronts, cabbies sparking tabs in the cold of a windswept rank flanked by one of Monkchester's lesser monuments: a sentry stopped in his bronze tracks, steps echoing the strains of an old tune hidden in the genes of a new one - a left-behind accent fizzing at the back of my tongue.
This poem is about the sound of gulls not a song in the traditional sense. More like a harsh command: a type of music we no longer know how to interpret, because it doesn't have that sweet, well-crafted sound but instead sounds like the busy people moving, the noise of water splashing from shop fronts, taxi drivers lighting cigarettes in the cold at a windy taxi stand next to one of Monkchester's less significant monuments: a guard frozen in his bronze position, footsteps echoing the melodies of an old song concealed within the essence of a new one - a forgotten accent bubbling up at the back of my mouth.