Toronto Gulls

Gazing out the window
Of my temporary residence
For the newly landed immigrant worker,
A high-rise apartment in Toronto,
Close to Queens Quay,
(Luckily, a cousin's lap of luxury for a spell)
I gratefully feel
The proximity to water ...
Okay, so it's a big lake
But big enough to have a dockside, marina look,
A loosely harbour-like feel ...
But without the sheltering view of Southside Hills of St. John's ...
Without the pungent saltwater breeze ...
God, I miss that!
Hard to avoid cliches that involve
Fish desperately gasping for air,
Violently flopping on a foreign shore.

Outside my window
Seagulls circle distractedly
Over the top of high-rise buildings,
Revolving around the CN tower.
Somehow they just don't seem to fit the picture.
What was I expecting?
Birds more symbolically fitting
With big city life?
Falcons?
Vultures?
Eagles?

A friend from home,
On the phone, jokes
"They followed you there ...
Pretty bad when your guardian angels
Are fuckin' ol' gulls from St. John's Harbour!"

These Toronto gulls
Don't ever seem to land.
Nothing to land for, I suppose
No sewage from "The Bubble", no fish guts
(There must be a Macdonalds or a land fill site
Within commuting distance of here -
Even Newfoundland gulls can recognize
A slow day at the harbour)
Floating aimlessly
On the thick breeze
Like trash in the wind
Circling incessantly
Like satellites around a hidden planet
Hard to avoid cliches that involve
A treadmill.

Not like the gulls at home though ...
Moving purposely,
Scouring the land and sea from the air,
Strategically pitching and diving -
Surviving.

I'm wondering ...
To survive here,
Which type of gull am I?
Which type should I be?
After all ...
It was a slow day at the harbour
That brought me here.

Michael Coady © 2003