Nun on the run

A watched nun

I watched the nun
Swirled by god's own boisterous wind
Crossing the bus stops
Down by the harbour

Under the grey obstinacy of the day
She moved like a rollerblader
A black spectre of intent
Weaving the shoppers
And the benchy teenagers

A watching juvenile seagull
Lolloped into the air
Taking no chances
That the nun was hungry