The Wandering Albatross

won’t budge. Tired

of her name,

tired of travel

and the southern

blue, she sinks

into the patch

of land she’s

found, and spreads

her windsurf wings

only to feel

the sun. She

won’t meet her

mate of thirty

years again – so

much water under

the bridge. She’ll

die here, and

nothing and no

one will care.

And that’s fine.