A man drives a long yellow tractor
across a mountain of garbage,
kneading the sickly sweet heap
all day. White gulls fall upon the feast
in shifts. What things have shown
themselves from the churning dream
& surprised the driver over the years
of riding the groaning diesel dinosaur?
Since we throw everything away,
anything could be inside
the writhing, slippery loaf
that cooks in sun heat and cools
in rain. Anything.
the gull's a white viceroy
in pink rubbery footwear,
strolling stiffly
amongst a dozen crows
outfitted in workaday black.
they respect the gull's
size but not its authority.
an improvised contest
for useful slimy stinking
morsels sauteed
in city refuse juice ensues.
the crows of course caw-cuss,
bounce on wire-feet,
wield their gleaming beaks.
gull says nothing,
gobbles great pieces
of anything likely
to nourish. and finally
rolls out a rising shriek,
a fantastic prophetic scream,
an explosive ode to life.
hans ostrom 2021
