The Clairvoyant

Over a cold Nordic coast a seagull flies and sees
the bay between the island and the coastal town.
40 minutes each way by ferry. It’s an old gull and
has a blind eye and one leg; yes, you are right,
a real pirate I used to know years ago, it knew me
too when I was a cook on that a ferry boat, sat on
the mast and waited for me to throw scraps of
food into the sea shrieking harshly, it is the gulls
way of wishing me well.

This year has no ice in the bay, there was a time
when the ferry was icebound islander folk had to
walk on ice across to get to the shops, they still
do (there is a bridge now,) ferry been sold and
is plying its trade on the delta of Bangladesh.

The day is clear I’m a seagull and can see the past
lucid as the day it is lucky that I can’t see the future,
but there is a name that warms my heart: Falluja.
The down trodden, the raped, took up arms and
fought the mightiest army the world has seen and
won a moral victory that one day will bring peace,
to Iraq. I’m not a seer, but the old pirate is, flies
beside me now and harshly shrieks, it is the way we
seagulls greet each other.