Puffins
The wind brings the circus
to a lonesome town upstate,
and puffins to the Isle of May,
seagirt, desolate.
The wind brings spectators
by ferry to the docks.
Side by side like gravy boats
seals loll on the rocks.
The throng swipes their shoes
on a disinfectant mat,
running down the gangplank
to the puffins’ habitat.
The main ring is the breeding ground
where lies their single egg
circled with a constant cry
echoed off the crag.