Wading through the midst
Of sleepy seaside towns
Full of bravado, swagger and *****
They follow the public sounds
Eating off the scraps
That the populous leave behind
Stealing from the trays
Not pretty and never kind
Dropping airborne stools
Green and white in sight
On unsuspecting individuals
Walking in the light
In the world of scavenger heaven
Is the place where they belong
Shrieking loudly a shrill cry
I call the seagulls song