Gulls are pests
© 2001 by PJ Nights

A black-backed gull blinks
with his one good eye.
He chaperones me in my
starfish-pose at Atlanticís edge.
Wavelets lick and
sea-foamed surf begs entry;
my restraint ebbs with the tide.

That raucous town-dump gull
winks suggestively as
I shed possessions, abandon
my divan to the delight
of Tuesday trashpickers.

The loud, dirty bird follows
me inland,
shrieks admonitions,
scrounges parking-lot picnics
of congealed French fries.

A stormy petrel turns tail
and leaves me home
on a Pacific strand.

The Lightning Bell Poetry Journal Issue #3

Goldfish by Henri Matisse icon

Observation Point by Judy Mandolf icon

in an alternate universe
© 2001 by PJ Nights

one day you just don't feed the goldfish, cruise
past work and never hit the brake, away
from zinfandel and wet heat, sunset hues
that burn vermillion in the rearview. play
the words you spin for me into asphalt
expressways, test them on your lips before
you press poems complete to mine. assault
my reason with your tongue, i've left the door
wide open. tease me, take me, bring us home.
shared breath and sweat in shaded hollows, pools
of promise into pleasure fill the tome
of verse with sighs and merging molecules.
one day perhaps i just don't feed the bird
and drive out west if you should say the word

Slow Trains Issue #4: Soup Sonnets