Land Fill at Morning
The seagulls here—no, no Sea,
just Gulls, I suppose—enjoy
the scraps of the Ray/Gonzales
wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Gonzales—
of course they took his father's name—
sip banana breakfast daiquiris
on a beach in Belize. The gulls
have somehow mastered the art
of avoiding the nooses of six-pack
plastic rings and swallow uneaten thirds
of sun-ripened jumbo shrimp.
They've acquired a taste for cocktail sauce.
Beyond, the Caterpillar-yellow dozers
bury the dried remains of deader days.
Further on, the matrix of white PVC pipe
vents methane to a rust-red sky.
just Gulls, I suppose—enjoy
the scraps of the Ray/Gonzales
wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Gonzales—
of course they took his father's name—
sip banana breakfast daiquiris
on a beach in Belize. The gulls
have somehow mastered the art
of avoiding the nooses of six-pack
plastic rings and swallow uneaten thirds
of sun-ripened jumbo shrimp.
They've acquired a taste for cocktail sauce.
Beyond, the Caterpillar-yellow dozers
bury the dried remains of deader days.
Further on, the matrix of white PVC pipe
vents methane to a rust-red sky.
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Author's Note
Published in the Winter 2014/2015 isssue at
http://www.olentangyreview.com/
along with The Planet Will Be Fine Without Us
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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They say poetry is all around us... this one is packed with layers of unsettled human sediment and byproducts of desire and consumption.*
Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! (cry of gulls in <i>Nemo</i>) *****
*
A good piece.
This pretty much says it all, Gary. *
This is So. Good. *
Thank you Emily,
Matt,
Amanda,
Sam,
Kathy,
and Charlotte.
One can learn a lot by closely observing.*
Thanks, Gary.
Well done, Gary. Says so much without a hammer. *
"Beyond, the Caterpillar-yellow dozers
bury the dried remains of deader days." **
Thank you, John,
and thank you, Tara.