Martins

Like remote-control boomerangs
They sweep across the water,
Whistling past my eardrums
Eating on the hoof
Gobbling insects on-the-go
Like commuters snaffling a sarnie;
Skimming above narrowboats
They dart and dive
In a deathly dogfight
Through the late summer skies
Returning at length
To warmer thermals –
Their Serengeti homes
Left, for rent or reuse…
Savanna mudhuts
Bonded to eaves, waiting
For the slow erosion
Of time and wind
To return them to the air
As their occupants before

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