The Gulls Maw
Its mouth is a bloodshot pennant,
the clacking tongue a buckram spear
shaken at all comers, the torso a perfect bow
for that arrowing beak and its raucous bugle -
the emblematic screech
of an avaricious hunter.
Fine honed wings scythe
the margins of water and air.
On land, it plays the fool,
an artful prankster scavenging
beneath a clownish mask.
The bird is innately admirable,
sleek, often graceful,
until,
those razor-edged shears
slash across the throat
of an off-guard and
wincing fear.
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