What does he hear, the dog,
In the wild wind’s whispering?
The cry of the gulls,
Or the cry of the dead?
Does he hear the sirens’ scream,
Police whistles, the tyres squeal?
Or the anger and fear,
La peur au ventre?
What does he taste in the wind?
The heavy salt rolled in from the sea,
The dunes breaking on the shore,
Or is it the bloody rage,
The incomprehensible hatred,
Exuded by men,
The makes him want to run, eyes rolling,
Far from the stink of oil and blood and the distant sea,