The Clairvoyant

The Clairvoyant Over a cold Nordic coast a seagull flies and sees the bay between the island and the coastal town. 40 minutes each way by ferry. It’s an old gull and has a blind eye and one leg; yes, you are right, a real pirate I used to know years ago, it knew me too when I was a cook on that a ferry boat, sat on the mast and waited for me to throw scraps of food into the sea shrieking harshly, it is the gulls way of wishing me well. This year has no ice in the bay, there was a time when the ferry was icebound islander folk had to walk on ice across to get to the shops, they still do [there is a bridge now,) ferry been sold and is plying its trade on the delta of Bangladesh. The day is clear I’m a seagull and can see the past lucid as the day it is lucky that I can’t see the future, but there is a name that warms my heart: Falluja. The down trodden, the raped, took up arms and fought the mightiest army the world has seen and won a moral victory that one day will bring peace, to Iraq. I’m not a seer, but the old pirate is, flies beside me now and harshly shrieks, it is the way we seagulls greet each other.