Seagulls
When I phoned her last week she said the weekdays were OK, but the weekends
were tough, especially Sunday, Sundays were the worst. She said Sundays were an
empty day if you had no God to fill it. She said people kept telling her to keep busy,
so she tried her hand at felting, bought one of those kits; a toy rabbit I think, but
she kept pricking her finger on the needle and got blood all over the wool, got to
admire her for trying though, she said she ended up cleaning the bathroom. Last
Sunday she said went to Frinton but the seagulls nicked her chips when she sat on
the beach. She said story of my life, can’t even save my chips. Do you remember
that time we went to Frinton and the seagulls dive bombed us? Bastards. I said it
would get better. She said crap. It’ll never get better. It’ll always be like this.
Ilse Pedler lives in Saffron Walden, where she works as a vet. Her poems have been published widely, in Poetry News, Orbis, The North and other journals. The Dogs that Chase Bicycle Wheels won the Mslexia Poetry Pamphlet Prize 2015 and is published by Seren.