for A.C.S.
And when the gulls dropped down within a long arm’s reach

we tossed broken Twinkies stuffed hurriedly by small hands

high into the air. The gulls swooped up, catching thick pieces

in their beaks, swallowing whole what may have been a femur

or a tibia or a rib burned down into fine wine dust, a few little

chunks, but mostly dust. My nine-year-old daughter beside me

stuffing more Twinkies, laughing at this adventure—grandpa

loved those Twinkies. She grasps this gift in her pint-size fist,

eyes expectant; oh the patience she held waiting minute upon

minute for the right moment to toss up and watch the swirling,

the squawking—a crescendo carrying him higher and higher