Leon Trainor: ‘Whale Watchers’

Whale Watchers

They walk up steep hillsides backwards
scanning horizon’s emptiness,
greet every glimpse of sprays and snorts
with hallelujahs, hosannas.
Tired of distant whale-spurts, they chase
Leviathan in motor boats;
roles reverse: they cower on the deck
when humpbacks burst from their pods
flaunting enormous flukes, whack
the surface for a bit of fun,
dive under-boat and pop out on
the other side. It’s all too much:
shakylegs, they wobble ashore,
eke out the year with dolphin-watch
and whales happily disappear
with calves in tow into inky
deep southern seas, watching out for
Japanese—who’d be a minke?

Such for anyone who worships
Nature in its larger shapes,
desperate that a bond be forged,
adoring while they think they’re safe:
Creation’s rich, varied menace
matches ours, it won’t behave
and can’t be shared. Mind your manners;
submerge, submerge all foolish prayers.

Leon Trainor