Rustica
I’m standing at the hatch of Rustica,
awaiting my award-winning
spicy meatball sandwich.
Me and the ladies go way back when.
It’s a grey and humid summer’s day.
We chatter,
a little banter,
I say goodbye
and I’m on my way.
I bump into Tomlin,
the famous Gallery DJ,
and we’re talking about
broken / relationships
when he utters in dismay,
“God. Look at that!”
I spin around,
there’s a white herring gull –
jacked,
and those black eyes
could not care less
as it plucks a pigeon
mercilessly
at its feet.
The third time
I’ve witnessed this week
in view of afternoon drinkers
on Hilton Street.
It stirs in us
mixed feelings.
I place my sandwich
in my rucksack,
and we head to Eastern Bloc
for coffee.
No one seems
to bat an eyelid.
***
Further Reading: The seagulls have landed: why gulls are encroaching on Britain’s towns
Another by Skendong: Life on either side of gentrified Ancoats, New Islington