Choreographed Feeding
The seagulls rose, dipped and
banked
In an ageless, timeless
seashore dance
Caught in a foamy hypnotic
trance
Of bubbling pomp and
circumstance.
Triangular wings and snow
white breasts
Skimming rolling, crashing
crests
A blur of half seen silhouettes
Of madcap, graceful pirouettes.
But when they catch the
elusive prize
With accelerated flaps they rise
On a zig zag course for open
skies
Amid raucous threatening
throaty cries.
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