Don’t squint your eyes at me in the mornings

This is where you want me, perched on your shoulder

With a wing splayed behind your head

I have clawed at your skin since seventeen

Waiting for the weekly feed.

So what there are droppings down your back

That make you reel on a Saturday?

So what there are dead mice in your pockets?

My feathers cast out a spotlight

They are there for you

                                              So do as you’re told!

Drink! Offer to buy another pint

And then—down! Shot! Swoop for the feed

I’ll save the bloody carcass for my young

There is wisdom in this savagery

And you know it when it hits
Do it! Too-wit! Too-woo! Too-hoo-to-hoo!

You… twit.
I am beautiful

Mid-air, arched back

The rise of my wings over a pointed bill

Catch the black of my eyes above

I see you shouting and thrashing your arms

Where I want you

                                    I will not break my stare

The bar lamps flare at my pearly feathers

Tell me I am not a kind of angel

—And just what tired animal are you?