by Jon Boisvert

A woman at the park throws a fried chicken wing to some
seagulls by the pond. She tosses another & more gulls
appear, landing together like a fat snow. They settle in
groups around the larger pieces, hissing & pulling tan
strips of muscle from bone. The line of birds in the sky
heading her way shows no sign of ending & the woman,
certain they’ll pick her up & take her away, starts dancing.

Jon Boisvert’s work has most recently appeared in Alaska Quarterly Review, Cold Mountain Review, and Spoon River Poetry Review. Originally from a small farm community in Wisconsin, he now lives in Portland, Oregon, where he teaches college writing.