Screaming At Pigeons


They’re misunderstood little bastards;
Greying, balding; bleak.

Clumped together in miserable circles
They nod, caw and they bleat.

Sympathy is passing
As is their time in this eternal affair

Their undue selfish ignorance
Is far too much to bear.

Stinking plumage;
Polluted and oil-slick

They warble and moan
‘Til they’re dizzy, raving and sick

Changeable and disdainful
A pride of roaring twits

They flit and bumble,
Cast downward eyes through ever-narrowing slits


Clay or otherwise
These cracking fools need waking and asserting

That the world they splatter plenty white
Is waking to their hurting.



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