Underwater Detonation of a World War II Bomb

An ingestion of time,
the bomb looks inward:
tortures reel endless
on a black billowing screen.

Hidden from war,
from seventy years’ weather,
sightless rats of its own creation
invent continuous season.

Thumb the pressure points
of earth at the temple,
and thirty feet of water comes,
erupting from its throat.

But the seagulls tell
of others under the river-
pulse in their head ticking,
not even closing their eyes at night.

Published in 'The Pedestal'