a poem about a seagull hit by a car
its dead now i suppose
that seagull in juvenile garb
dragging its flappiness across the road
hit by a car i suppose
it seemed nonplussed
that it could not fly
its eyes said nothing but
what i read into them
i avoided the coup de grace
steered the disapprobation
of the drivers behind
although my calculation
regarding prognosis was accurate
eventually it was hit and flattened i guess
an odd feather headdress announcing
its departure into the tarmac
what a strange sequence of thoughts
over the distance of my passing from it
and the curtains of perspective
closing it all down in my mind
road sweeping must be a jammy job
bloody black humour suggested
the rains wash the roads into the ocean
they say
the micro sea beasties like blood
the fish like the micro beasties
the seagulls like the fishies
and shit them all over the road
until one day
bang!
all over the road
cloaca is funny bird word
don’t you think
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