The storm drove the seagulls inland to my window
The gulls swooped down,
Fishing chips
Strewn on the pavement,
Instantly reclaimed
With their precision beaks.
The first gull,
Had circled
My window,
At dawn,
Looking me straight
In the eye,
Before he glided down,
And in one smooth movement,
No glimpse of hesitation,
He had his chips.
He returned again,
Never breaking his curve,
Scooped up another chip,
So smoothly
That I gasped
With delight.
This time he returned
With two friends.
They dived for their chips,
Together.
A trio of white
Ghosts,
Stealing God.
Poetry by Esti D-G
Read 556 times
Written on 2006-01-18 at 22:31
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Chips
The gulls swooped down,
Fishing chips
Strewn on the pavement,
Instantly reclaimed
With their precision beaks.
The first gull,
Had circled
My window,
At dawn,
Looking me straight
In the eye,
Before he glided down,
And in one smooth movement,
No glimpse of hesitation,
He had his chips.
He returned again,
Never breaking his curve,
Scooped up another chip,
So smoothly
That I gasped
With delight.
This time he returned
With two friends.
They dived for their chips,
Together.
A trio of white
Ghosts,
Stealing God.
Poetry by Esti D-G
Read 556 times
Written on 2006-01-18 at 22:31
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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