1 minute read
Cygnet
from Anthology 2019
by Suffolk One
Maddi Hastings
-DropThe bait’s in Prime Position. Orbited by the mobile of dog biscuits and maggots That dance under the shimmering, translucent blanket in front of us; The line waits, its orange marker bleeding through the foggy blue Law of contrast. You sit by the bank, banging the backs of your boots against your Propped up chair Anticipating. Watching the silky silhouettes of your prey as they dance Under the saturated Saturday sunlight. You rise to your feet when the Lilliputian buoy sinks below the Brownish liquid pit of quicksand. Bite. It rises, pulled up by the strength in your arm. You’ve got one! We’ve perched at the edge of the river Patient.
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The empty wind caresses your head of stubble - Breathes life into my arching loops - As it stabs these empty eyes Excited, you observe the shivering mirror beside us Me…not so much, Eyes are lit up with disappointment.
They pass, taking the fishing l i n e With them. Looking, longing Thinking I’m one of them A cygnet among ducks.
The organised formation float past. Beautiful, graceful.
They tangle up his line Bloody things.
A living masterpiece, running rogue from the artist’s ire Weapon of choice – a brush –Strikes the paper Staining its surface. Now. We’re both engaged with the reckless and
Free.
