Poetry, Unassigned

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Friday, April 9, 2021

RAUCOUS CAWING

RAUCOUS CAWING

by Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 1995



The raucous cawing of sea gulls

as they dive and swoop through the cold air

resounds, rebounds off the walls of nearby stores,

half-echoing.

The sounds bouncing back

are covered half the time by the

continuous cries of the gulls

as they chase one another

away from scraps of food

left for various reasons

on the ground.

The air is crisp, cold,

and carries the sound

unmuffled,

so that it feels as

crackly as small shards of icicles,

broken off and crunched.

The grey and white birds

screech and scream

over the dredges of someone’s leftovers,

picking,

plucking,

swooping down to

grab small pieces of breakfast

while the sun glints and glitters

off nearby panes of glass,

from which sound bounces,

tossing back the raucous cawing of the gulls.



I wrote this while watching sea gulls diving around a dumpster in a parking log. It's part of my book Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, which is looking for a publishing home.

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