I see the sign
but don’t think much of it
how aggressive
can seagulls be
waddling around
squawking the same squawk
over and over
then he hit me
bomb of white feathers
yellow feet in my hair like lobsters
the warm heaviness of him
flapping hard against my face
and with a push off my neck
he flies away
my scone is gone
I am too alarmed to scream
a little kid points at me
most people laugh and look away
one kid stares and then cries
his mother hugs him
I wish I could bury into her too
make this strange shame go away
as I sit on my own
wishing I could laugh
stop shaking
but no one will look at me
let me laugh with them
and I refuse to be watched from behind as I flee
so I sit with nothing but my hands in my lap
caught in the irrational net of humiliation
at being picked on
even if just by a bird.