on the black, flat roof of the building
immediately outside the window where I was working
two seagulls did their screaming best
to build some kinda half-assed nest
using whatever crap that was beakable
the whole unholy mess unspeakable
feathers, straws, shit-stained twigs
I wouldn’t drop a rat in there, let alone eggs
but eventually
incredibly
the seagull
couple
were blessed
with an egg-shaped item in their terrible nest
(but why would anyone throw a leg
over something that looked like a bad Kinder egg?
where the prize isn’t a cartoon fella
but a fatal dose of salmonella)
anyway – we used to feed them scraps
broken biscuits, shit like that
some water
in a saucer
because I have to say it’s not a smart plan
to lay your eggs on what is – essentially – a frying pan
one morning I came into work
everyone was going berserk
no seagulls! no egg! and to add to the horror
the body of a pigeon and a broken saucer!
but y’know – I’ve watched enough episodes of CSI
to figure out what happened on the roof outside:
when the seagulls realised
their egg was unfertilised
they lost it, went loco
and when a paparazzi pigeon stopped by for a photo
smashed a saucer over its head
heard bird sirens in the street below, and fled
just another sorry seagull scene
and another egg scrambled by the urban machine
