Gulls of the Liffey

As I walk through the heart of Dublin city

past the Claddagh shops and pubs,

by the foul smelling river, I see an eternity of

                                    sickly birds.


Disguised as arched grey clouds,

a less-hazardous smog than the city is used to,

their presence alters the wind when they are united

                                    in flight.


 The gulls attack the unsuspecting crumbs, paying no mind to

the camera-wielding tourist who avoids the width of the

broad wings. Like vultures to a festering corpse they dine

                                    in solitude.


Quick to detest, eager to turn away,

we go about our business,

unaware that we are no different than the gulls of

                                    the Liffey.


At first, second, third glance, the gulls

are nothing but winged vermin,

overpopulating benches, streets, and statues. Lonely,

                                    rejected creatures.


Like a ravenous famine, humanity swarms

as it chases after escaped longings.

As the gulls starve, we starve for much

                                    much more.


Weaving through the heart of Dublin, we swarm

like the Gulls of the Liffey

in a desperate search for our only chance

                                    of survival.


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