Coming in waves; hundreds if not billions of gulls
In varying degrees of white and grey
Hovering, circling, weaving through the
Pale blue, hazy, afternoon sky
Then and now a brave wing flies straight towards
Staring me down, daring me to grow wings and
Play in his aerial game of chicken
I would if I could; I would oblige
Observing my languidness he ascends
Alighting on the steeply slanted peak behind
I would sit there too; it must be a spectacular view
From where I am comfortably perched
I am continually yet repetitively amazed by
All the eye can perceive; he has 20 feet the better
The perfect vantage point to spy his chip, his dinner
The scraps that grace the cobbled ground
Down. Down between the rows, more rows
Of rusted brick, history burdened buildings
Squeezed out by a baker; frosting lining the harbor
Dozens meandering above
Across the way a click of gulls face southwest
Towards the sun, the wind, or neither
Atop a thin chimney, poking up proudly from
The side of a black shingled roof
Sitting contently, gently guarding their realm
Bronzed and fixed upon the bow of an English schooner
One opens her wings in a cool coastal gust
Shoots back sharply, rises quickly, turns hither
Dips and dives twice as fast
Down. Down out of view; Goodbye
Thousands dodging above
Before I could forget, she burst upwards
Vertical, wings spread wide
Pearl webbed feet stretched, straining
Aiming for the corner of my sun-faded porch
Touchdown; a mere spit away
Her yellow beak tipped with flash of crimson
Perpendicular to my astonished and delighted gaze
Tips her head slightly to get a better view
Studying the human form in a lounging, relaxed state
My pure bred, grade-A gull
Plump, whiter then snow physique
Perched precariously over thin twig legs
Wings of a captivatingly dark grey
Grey I would rejoice to have on my palate
No hint of brown, embarrassing age marks
Plaguing hundreds of subordinates spinning in delirium above
The sun pushed from behind the clouds
Altogether she thrust her speckled butt
Lowered her protruding breast
Arched her glossy back
Raised her contoured head
Opened her pointed trumpet and
Released a litany of ear piercing yet somehow bellowing shrieks
As if pronouncing that corner her own
Finished, standing motionless
Staring with a boastful eye
Taunting me to best her
I nodded politely and replied with a slightly sarcastic
"Well hello to you too."
She ruffled her feathers, turned smugly, took off
Skillfully surfing the breeze in search for a more formidable opponent

The Eclectic Pen - Gloucester Gull

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