In A London Sink

Poetry

Photo by Rory Tucker on Unsplash

In A London Sink*:

Tiny jet black beings in an old butler sink.

Offerings of pond weed and cat food are made

Ravenous apostrophes.

They eat, graze, hunt, repeat

Raw energy, propelling their tight round bodies forward 

Ever growing, rounder and rounder.

There’s an explosion of limbs

as the pimple consumes its tail.

It grows wide,

eats its sisters and brothers, 

its hide leathery and glistening

it is gone. 

The butler is redundant. 

Abandoned 

in favour of city backwaters. 

DN

*This poem is a tiny homage to the butler sink we had in our back garden when we lived in London, many years ago, and in which we raised tadpoles and watched them hop off to become frogs.