The seagulls think we live at the seaside:
the tower blocks are their cliffs;
they swoop for fish in the gutter
but are happy that it’s last night’s fried rice.
they stand about screaming on the pavement
and ride the sea-breezes pumped out
by the cinema air-conditioning.
they hover over the waves of cars
and if you stare at them,
wondering what they’re doing
so far from home,
they stare back:
‘This is our home now.
Is a crab.’
Copyright: from Michael Rosen's Big Book of Bad Things (Puffin, 2010) © Michael Rosen, used by permission of the author.