SEAGULLS OF MYRTLE BEACH (Poem)

The gulls - mostly white with gray markings
But some speckled with brown – stood in the shallow surf
Patiently looking landward. For what?
I walked along the flat, damp sand of the beach
The late February wind behind my back,
A hamburger bun in my left hand.
Idly I ripped off a small morsel of the bread
And tossed it towards one of the gulls.
It spread its wings and quickly leapt towards the crumb.
But it wasn't quick enough. The wind blew the bread
To the right of the gull, and another got to it first.

A remarkable transformation took place along the beach,
As gull after gull took to the air.
They began to circle me in smooth flight as if it was windless,
Some shrieking with anticipation.
I threw a piece of bread into the air as high as I could.
The wind carried it ahead of me so that I could see the gulls
Adjust their maneuvers and cleanly swoop towards the scrap.
The bread never came close to touching the ground.
Slowly I began to toss bits of bread as high as I could,
And the gulls became frantic in their quest for food.
They grew more and more bold, getting closer, closer,
Even bumping each other in their battle for something to eat.
A wing caressed my right arm as it moved.
Another batted my head, messing my hair.
Drool hit my hand, and I puzzled over gulls salivating.

A terrible screech came from my left.
A gull hovered like some gigantic hummingbird,
Its beak open, a look of pain upon its face.
The beak made short movements toward the remains of the bun,
But the wings kept it much too far away for any success.
It screeched again, and I wondered when any of the birds
Had last eaten! I tossed a bit of bread towards the open beak.
Wind again blew it off line, but it landed cleanly in the mouth,
The gull making a movement faster than the eye could detect.
Another screech, another piece of bread in the beak,
Whereupon with a quick change in the pitch of the wings
The bird gracefully moved away, banking to the left.
Was its hunger sated or did it realize
It had gotten more than its fair share?

Two more bits of bread into the air.
Surprisingly one bounced off a beak and fell to the ground.
A hoard of gulls dove for it, fighting off each other.
The bread was now all gone, but the gulls still circled,
Some only inches from my face so that I could feel the
Wind from their flapping wings.
So hungry were they that I began to be frightened.
Would they begin to peck at my eyes?
In desperation to tell them there was no more food,
I held the palms of my hands upward and shrugged my shoulders.
They seemed to understand and slowly returned to their stations,
Their backs again towards the sea.
All became quiet except for the low g-r-o-w-l
Of the Atlantic winter surf.

Written: March 7, 1986