"guls" poems
concrete castles, brick battlements,
chimneys billowing black smoke.
sky, leaden and forever dull;
this is the city of the guls.
perched upon red brick walls
and slated rooftops
they unleash their cries of battle
and dive, strafing as they fly;
gutting wheelie-bins, squabbling
over human trash and muck.
this is treasure to the guls,
their feathers diseased and their
necks sporting plastic trophies.
they ****** from grubby human hands
and swallow all they can;
their gullets hold no guilt or shame
for the human filth called 'man.'
the guls know their city: every cranny
and every nook. they have always ruled
from their royal perches:
ruthless, ***** and proud. they look
upon human men with beady eyes
as they leave humble offerings,
and they cackle
chorusing with their high-pitched
squawks. for humans are
mere pests
among those mighty guls.
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 6:54 AM UTC