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Seagull

Seagull

the guy

with him

called him

“Bill”

“Scoot over Bill,” he said

and Bill scooted over

to let the girls aboard

and the girls glanced at Bill

and saw he had no teeth

that his body was that of a boy

and his face was that of a man

and his eyes were that of an old, old man

stuck in a body that did not fit the fire,

the fire in his belly

and when it was Bill’s turn

to strap on the safety belts

he met no eye

he just stood there

staring at the white bow of the boat

waiting for his feet to lift

from the white

and as his feet dangled in air

his smile was newborn

his eyes without sea

his heavy mind at ease

just him and the breeze

gliding over an ocean

and the minutes weren’t long enough

not nearly

like the rope

that reeled him back

to the bow

TL

Published inTamiko Lowery