Seagulls

A fearful sun shuts-up shop
Behind gun-smoke clouds,
As badass bandits
With white neckerchiefs
Ride into town.

A villainous colony is on the run
From an Atlantic storm,
Lassoing helpless trees,
And stealing the winter sky
Of its silvery sheen.

Mocking and menacing a shrinking wind,
Laughing at the land-locked below.
Until our village is surrounded,
And young and old alike are held
In bitter hostage.

So, I hide in the shadows
Beneath their wings, waiting, waiting.
For calm to prevail,
And richer pickings to lure
These felons, to ships set sail.

Simon Denegri
January 2018