James Walton #80 One legged gull, at Parliament Hill

You think I don’t matter

sitting there waiting for the bells,

on your sculpted piece of art

from bicameral indifference.

Smirking at the rabble

all huff and puff to you,

fighting over cast off chips

just an outcast hop step and jump.

Destined to a slow decline

injured beyond repair,

but it’s called the beady eye for a reason

this jerky parade of slightly turned head.

Just see what happens

when I squawk and take off,

a white canvas of squabble will rise

enough to block out your sun.