Old Haranguer Poem by Anthony Joseph Erangey

Old battered gull, seen crafty,
Disappeared,
While my mind’s eye blamed clouds.
No sea foam churning its apologetic spray, nor
Peripatetic footprints in the sand, for
This kingdom of dreary, undulating, yellow
Boundaries and lines.

The shrill squawking coven, feisty,
Appears,
To be circling their conquest, loud.
No White cliffs looming over acrobatic shale, nor
Katabatic downdrafts to navigate, for
These feathers weary, garbage fed, dirty,
On asphalt alight.

Old haranguer, oh gull of my seas,
Two thousand miles from oceans deep,
I look at you, and you, me,
In our parking lot of depravity.