I heard an owl

I heard an owl –

The dead of night –

The memory left

Then reappeared –

As clear as deer

In plain sight –

Its echoes pierced

The sky –

I saw a rebel –

A shirtless, gutless

Boy-racing

Wonder –

Tearing up

Streets –

No regard for

Anyone or anything;

No children

Crossing will

Stop him

In his tracks.

There he goes –

Window down,

Skirting, sniffing

White lines –

He cannot

Drive

For shit –

One rough,

Tough,

Man-child

Bastard.

Boy-racers:

Always angry

And

Never cool.

He is still

Somebody’s

Son, but

For how

Long?

The view from

My room is

Door frame

After

Door frame

After

Door frame:

Up the street,

Down the street:

Black/

White/

Yellow/

Red/

Olive green.

Door frames

Are discreet –

Door frames

Are for the

Living, not

The dead;

Door frames are

Like funerals;

They are

Private gateways

To sleep.

You leave for

Exercise,

Shopping

Alone –

Return alone –

Do not

Deviate.

Get in line

Like everyone

Else: two

Metres apart –

Wear a mask

If you please,

But refrain

From

National gain

And get a slap:

£60 fine

Reduced to

Thirty if

Paid,

Uncontested,

Within

Fourteen days

Of receipt.

Look out

For drones

Over Peaks,

Barbeques in

Coventry,

Front lawns in

Yorkshire -

Don’t go

On twice

In one day

Or the

Rozzers will.

I saw a bird –

Two, in fact –

Two intact

Birds –

Side-by-side –

Wing-to-wing –

Top of Maccies,

Closed –

The stench of

Death on

Hiatus:

Locked-down

Chicken death.

Even the

Seagulls

Look regal –

The gulls

Have taken

Over –

They can’t

Believe their

Luck –

They can’t

Be fined

Or shunned –

Only shot.

The windows

Of houses

Burn red –

As red as

Uluru

At dusk –

Yet the

Streets

Are silent

Still.

Inside they’re

Crawling

Walls in

Cabin fever

Dwellings;

The curtain

Call of the

Virtual quiz

Master is

Strong:

He steals

One last

Smile to

Camera,

Grinning

Like a

Clown,

And then

He is gone:

Same time

Next week?

Drops fall

Glibly

Down

Pane –

The feet of

My neighbour

Dance

In her

Window,

Rowing

Skywards

On imaginary

Inverted

Pedalo.

My mind is

Stripped –

Boredom

Sits alone –

Are there

Sad songs

Or

Sad minds –

Or

Both?

Fading light

And I

Lost

Sight

Of day –

The night

Draws in

Slowly

And without

Warning

And streets

Are silent

Still – and

Houses and

Windows and

Door frames and

Ward beds

Burn bright.

It’s 6 o’ clock

And they’re

Tuning in:

The daily

Numbered

Dead.

***

The owl

Stretches –

Oblivious –

Pirouettes,

And

Breathes

The clean

Night air.

This is a poem about isolation from isolation. It starts and ends with the owl – the owl has returned to the street – a temporary return, like clean air coming back to the neighbourhood. The owl is oblivious to the current plight of humanity, or is she? And the gulls? They lived among us and now we live among them – they fly free while our movements are confined to government-approved daily doses – and the city streets are theirs.

The poem questions where we are; place; identity; what we do to fill the time. It reveals the danger of limiting the mind to the issues of the neighbourhood in which one exists. It is a snapshot of a day but it races ahead like time, like the boy racer, unstoppable, barely pausing for breath.

The poem seeks to present the juxtapositions we currently face. The bird imagery is intentional – humans cannot cage and eat birds and then blame the bird for spreading the virus. It asks us not to think so selfishly.

The conclusion of the poem brings us back to the owl; oblivious, alive, awake.

Written by Luke Whewall

Luke is a thirty-something living in exile on the Bedminster/Southville border. Luke was born in Barnsley. His grandfather was a miner. Luke was born in the 80s, grew up in the 90s, and reached some form of adulthood in the 00s. Luke graduated in English. His passions include (but are not limited to): dogs; books; Barnsley Football Club; hedgehogs (RIP Winona; 2016-2019); Italy; coffee; pizza; the NHS; anything ever recorded by Bradford J. Cox.