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This poem is taken from PN Review 177, Volume 34 Number 1, September - October 2007.

Three Poems Siriol Troup

On the Rocks

Three of us there that day, two nudists laid out
like mackerel fillets on a slab, their state
of nature making a fool of me as I cursed the wind
in anorak and trainers. We are the guardians
of this beach
, their bodies cried, so I left them
keeping faith with the earth. From a distance
their smiles were smug, their limbs refined
and gleaming, then suddenly storm clouds slammed
in from the sea, skuas began to scream, and I thought
someone should tell them to get dressed. I zipped
my fleece, noticing - as I ran - two small dead
puffins on the rocks, their bright beaks chinked
like cups, and all around, the sand as sharp
as chopped-up fingernails varnished a shocking pink.

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