The Wind Turbines

They wheel, white
a flight of sea gulls.
Hub-less spokes
in PVC. They
tumble, clowns
like Sporty Spice,
or

toys
from childhoods
by the sea. They're mutant ninja
three-leafed clovers, they're endless
bowlers of maiden overs.

They sprout,
lover's half-plucked daisies.
They're Manxman's flags
(when being lazy).
They nestle, giants
shoulder-by-shoulder, for
now they have
the weight of numbers.
They beckon rudely
raising fingers. Saying

Oi !

Quixote!

Sit
on
this!

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Copyright © Gavin Stewart 1996-2006

Website http://www.gavinstewart.net
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