Poetry 26 February 2020 The Pollyanna Principle A new poem by Rory Waterman. GABRIEL BOUYS/AFP via Getty Images Sign UpGet the New Statesman\'s Morning Call email. Sign-up The runway ran its barren mile of asphalt then gave where a gravel pit had stolen the end: a swan sailed like a model, bank to bank then halfway back again, and water boatmen stop-started at the edge. Two mallards winged across, wheeled over the reeds, engaged their stubby-footed landing gear, and yapped for scraps or seed we hadn’t brought. There was little else round there but darkening sky, then the hungry alarm of thunder. She nodded at our dot of car – “Shall we?” – then marched downrange. I always followed her. › Leïla Slimani’s Sex and Lies: a brave and honest look at the lives of Moroccan women This article appears in the 28 February 2020 issue of the New Statesman, The death of privacy