Apparently, dying for one's country is now a thing and spreading around the globe. I heard a skilled stuntman is being borrowed and passed around, and making quite a killing. A country western song on caged kick-boxing was almost a hit. Reports have it a large number of empty hermit crab shells are filling bookstore shelves. Fashion models once beautiful are hideous, lonely and old. In my poem, seagulls fly low, moaning and apparently celebrating spring.