Seagull
A red raw gape, a crater of hunger,
the clacking tongue
a buckram spear shaken at all comers.
The gulls mouth is the gull,
its avian body
only a winged engine for that open maw,
a perfect bow for that arrowing beak
with its raucous bugle.
A gullet for a perfected greed;
a throat that yawns wide enough
for any a scavengers scream,
a call allied to the pitiless winds,
and thrashing seas.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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