Half the chips I throw to you you miss.
They get picked up by smaller gulls,
black-headed, cocky, clever. You
are beautiful in your North Sea grey and white,
but on land your yellow eye misses things.
Living on land is not for you.
Get back out over the ocean,
glide on the great winds,
plummet into the deep
as the terns do and the cormorants,
those who have never tried
life on land, the life of a little
black-eyed gull, a jackdaw copying,
a pigeon purring, a person gobbling
his fish and chips on the beach.
© James Munro