A seagull stands atop a roof crest
Two seagulls, actually.
The second, a few inches down pitch.
They catch my attention while driving to the ferry.
Tugging,
Beak clamped tight
The gull up top
Grips the wing of the other,
who is outstretched,
down a few steps
ready to take flight.
Only she can't take off.
Her first wing digit with its entire bony cluster of feathers
gripped tight
in the beak of the other gull.
Poised and posed,
she is spread in full form,
wing clamped
Both gulls rendered statues in their desire
Locked in an unmoving tug
Her webbed feet don't pad down the steep pitch,
or smack the metal rooftop with each quickening step,
nor does she launch herself into the glimmery blue springtime sky.
Instead, she and the other remain tethered.
Her wing, white and showy, pulled upward,
her comrade's neck and long yellow bill yanked downward.
A frozen connection to each other
Awkward, surprising.
"Let go!" I shout,
watching in wonder
as that beak continues to hang on.
Not yet ready to release.