SundayIIII August

A performing seal.
Dressed in inappropriate unseallike attire:
A pillar box red bow,
The added chic of a tight hat.
Flippers clipped and polished shining grey.
Spirited away from natural habits and habitat.
To sit clapping to the crowd's crow.
Trained by a master.
Tamely turning tricks.
With perfect flipper flicks.
Forgetting in the busy midst: this small ring of water's not home.
It doesn't even resemble it.
The seal prolongs the pretence.
A docile, dutiful seal.
Quick to learn.
Eager to please.
Pleasing is forgetting.
Filling its belly with dead fish,
Speeding for another whirl of laughter.
At night dreaming of circles of widening mouths and bare arms.
Going through the motions.
At the end of the day the ringside is swept and the whiff of sweet popcorn fades to animal sweat and hay.
At night in the empty pool, the seal remembers who she is.
This is her life.
This is how she lives.
With luck this will change;
the pool will become a memory.
A place to be mused on during an idle float.
Her long eyelashes drying in the sun.
Large brown eyes reflecting the crests of passing waves.
Her belly a grey crown in water sparkling greeny grey.

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