The Day After Labor Day by Joan Bransfield Graham

September breeze, an island chill,
the streets so quiet . . . still,
            seem wider now
but soon they fill
                        with gulls

that stride and squawk
and boldly walk
           the middle of the road—
I wish I understood
                     gull-talk

perhaps they, too, feel harmony
no crowds, no noise
           now once again
just sand, waves, sky, and sea
                     . . . just gulls and me



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