Parking Lot Gulls

Parking Lot Gulls

Birds, to us, are great symbols of freedom,

For who, given the wings, would remain

Earthbound? Who, if they could just flap

Their wings and catch the wind, wouldn’t

Rise up and go, leave the Earth behind,

And seek the skies and what they offer?

Out over the ocean horizon at a paradise

By the sea, you can see them flying, out

Over the boundless sea, as the sun drops

Down over the edge, filling the surrounding

Sky with colors so vast that it makes you

Wonder whether it could be truly real,  

But then you also see Gulls in Parking Lots.

Have you ever taken time to wonder why?

Could it be that there is some pecking order

Among the birds of the air, some ancient

Inequality, leaving some to fly in paradise,

While others mire above the concrete sea

Of commerce looking for garbage like a rat?

Maybe there is some cosmic force of ancestry

That binds them to a radius, or at the least

A narrow path, inside which they never stray.

Are there then dissenters within the race,

Constantly squawking against oppressive

Traditions that limit their freedom in flight?

Does one bird have a dream where all birds

May one day be equal, wing to wing, one day

Flying boundless wherever their god given

Wings would take them, not just some but all?

Perhaps it is merely economic, and these birds

Like rats simply go where the food is, and so

Freely choose to live on a continuous supply

Of scraps, rather than risking starvation,

For what, a view? I can’t feed myself, nor my

Hatchlings with green lush grass, nor any

Optical illusion of color. Maybe they have

Different beauty constructions. Maybe their

Magazines have pictures of rubble and brick

Or cracks in the sidewalk, banana peels,

Apple cores, and plastic soda can rings.

Or do they have some kind of fair system,

Where every bird takes their turn, living

At some point, here, there, and everywhere

Before their time on Earth is done? Would

You trade time working in a corporate world

Of commerce, for a moment of peace

At some point, on a lazy beach in the Tropics?

How quickly when I try to humanize the birds,

Placing my values on them, does their freedom

Disappear. Let me instead learn from them,

Perhaps given enough time, and freedom,

Knowing you could go anywhere is enough

To finally value what you have been given,

And soaring, anywhere, is enough just because

You are a bird, and flying is what you do.