Charlie the Seagull

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In those days, an old seagull named Charlie,

came to his perch on the porch

every mealtime,

waiting for scraps from the children's plates.

He was a bit ragged around the edges,

a hardscrabble old mariner.

If I were slow in bringing out his meal,

he aimed his gaze at me,

and I hurried up.

Down below, the waves lapped

peacefully and rhythmically

on the shore.

The sound gave me comfort.

Upstairs, was the store

where I earned our living,

dawn to midnight.

Another ragged around the edges male

made brief appearances,

to palm money from the till

and go out drinking.

All that winter, his anger seethed.

All that winter,

as my baby grew in my belly,

I worked and worried.

In the summer, he closed the store

"for renovations", and  took us

to my mother's house.

Within weeks, the store burned down.

When there was no insurance money paid,

due to the suspicious nature of the fire,

he was on his way.

I often wonder where

old Charlie the seagull went,

when his perch was gone

and I wasn't there to feed him.

I never wondered much

about the man.

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Birds