By | 1 May 2019

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?

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