Arctic Cotton
by Finn Cargill
Is it the old who are easy in their living?
Like arctic cotton, they wait,
Flowering shyly in the wide, white tundra,
Dusty as the peppered moth under silent snowfall.
They have pressing matters at hand
Such as the fading of the day
And the circling of the raptors above.
Is it the young who are now exhausted?
I have no universal value, not to hand,
Only a kind of lonely stripping,
Unveiling a great unkindness,
That bulbous death cap on my shoulder:
A king parasite. I grit my teeth,
Raxing for an audience or an ally.
Like arctic cotton, they wait,
Flowering shyly in the wide, white tundra,
Dusty as the peppered moth under silent snowfall.
They have pressing matters at hand
Such as the fading of the day
And the circling of the raptors above.
Is it the young who are now exhausted?
I have no universal value, not to hand,
Only a kind of lonely stripping,
Unveiling a great unkindness,
That bulbous death cap on my shoulder:
A king parasite. I grit my teeth,
Raxing for an audience or an ally.
Finn Cargill, originally from Suffolk, England, is a cinema worker who has been writing poetry for seven years. He is currently studying at Goldsmiths College, London, whilst preparing several poetry collections for publication. Cargill also curates a collaborative project: ‘Dirty and Anxious,’ hosting creatives within different mediums, as well as contributing to Goldsmiths’ creative writing society’s events and publications. Visit him at finncargill.com.