7 The Pelican-watcher (2) There must have been five hundred here last week Not grazing the waves like these but swirling high Their silhouettes jagged against a sky Bright silver in the west over a sleek And blazing evening sea; slow, homely, meek Amongst the agile lovely terns and sly Gull gangs they flapped deliberately by. Ungainly dives get them the fish they seek. They look like so much scrap-iron hurled in the air, But they belong. Archaic and venerable Their ugliness no less than their steady skill (And now alas who’s jogging toward me there? A handsome colleague whose talk is a display Of intellectual cowardice and decay…). 15