I saw a dead seagull today and it upset me more than it should have done, or perhaps more than I thought it would.
A big herring gull, crisp white feathers and smooth grey wings. Strong, curved yellow beak, but greyish filmy lids closed over fierce proud eyes.
Still and silent in the middle of the road, carelessly crumpled and neck bent awkwardly back on itself and legs outstretched.
You should be flying free and wild, soaring over the sea, screeching your savage call to carry on the wind. Not here.
You should look down upon seas churned with foam, waves crashing towards the land. Not here.
Not dusty tarmac. You should blink fiercely out of existence into magnificent nothingness.
A dirty city street is no place to die.