You asked me to have it stuffed for you – Chekov The Seagull
I contemplate the old tough seagull as he settles
on a barge post at the wharf and craps com-
placently. (Volumes could be written but would be duller
even than this letter home by me.)
When not post restant he flap-flops about
incoming ferries but not expansively for one
at home on air and land and sea. Designed
to be more versatile than us, he lacks
sea-bird acuity yet one-eyes me as if
that is a plus. I snap him tugging at his scraps
while he views me as taking him
too casually. I sense he wonders whence
the borsch he knows I ate will soon
need to evacuate. If you can think
about it, all the whys and wheres and whens
of him wear thin. Unlike the albatross,
so enigmatic and austere (who
mariners and poets tend to revere) my
tatty scatty seagull with his one-eyed stare
craps lustily and doesn’t give a toss.