Scuttle Song:

The clouds shifted,

On the winds from the sea.

As smoke bellows

From the chimney stack-

A scuttle song,

Screeches

From the back seat

Hands raise,

“Flap”

A mother glances back

Precious cargo she thinks

A seagull,

I shall be, her daughter giggles loudly

Not as bold as an eagle, baby? Her mother ask inquisitively

I sit on a post, catching waves

Looking for some lunch,

Or maybe some French fries...

Did you know, the ocean is just a block from us?

Yes, baby, her mother answers.

A scuttle song,

Screeches

From the back seat

Hands raise,

“Flap”

A mother glances back

Precious cargo she thinks

At low tide,

Clams breathe freely from the seabed

“Clank” drop a crab pot or two

When we get home,

a steaming bowl of homemade chowder

For you and me, her mother declares.

Her little seagull, waits patiently

At the table,

as a spoon,

hangs off the end of her nose