Gull

Do I fly? Do I? 
I am naked on the beach, drunker than I have been in centuries. There are nighttime people just up the dune, playing sandbag games and laughing. Their laughter enters my brain dry and leaves soggy.
Do I? Do I fly? Can I?
A gull screeches fifteen feet overhead. Her voice opens some rusted portal. A bit of fish falls in front of me. She does not apologize. She dwarfs an airplane stuck like a fingernail in the clouds. My monster has died many miles away, and I play a losing game.
Can I fly? Do I fly? Do I?

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