They Are Gathering

The gulls are gathering, they mob, they scream, they vie with each other to lunge upon the unseen. America, those first bold steps of your eventful arrival, your first imprints trod upon this great land are beginning to surface here on the beach - but now there is a whiff, a stench of much heaped decades of betrayal and corruption. Those inaugural shoeprints of imperial venture and high hope are surfacing to be seen; like dead fish they appear upon the tainted shingle and sand. There is a stink America, the rapacious gulls are gathering they swoop upon the long lamented, feed upon the ghostly whispers of what could and should have been.