Starlings

There, outside, starlings squawk

squeaking squabbling

fighting over suet balls – posturing,

peck-peck-peck-pecking.

Wings flutter,    then flapping beating,

feet outstretched, threatening threatening.

Battles quickly won, winners’

peck-peck-peck at (suet) prizes,

losers peckng scattered titbits - 
‘til the next war, (in moments moments,)

then they’ll squawk and fight again

Here, inside, we squabble

over little things, the minutiae, the meaningless,

as if our sorry lives depended on it. 

Posturing, chins jutted out,

teeth bared; lips curled & snarled,

we lace into one another,

venom in our screeching voices.

You win this time, even if by default –

I’ll no longer, can’t be bothered

to play this losing game, this silly blaming game,

where (somehow) you believe

I’m the driver in your sorry stupid life.

You preen like some vain cock,

cock-a-hoop over shallow victory,

smile smirking across your stupid face. 

Whilst I, defeated by the pain the chore of it,

seethe so strongly deep inside, &

mutter silent words in venom breaths.

Outside, now, all starlings gone,

two wood-pigeons coo and woo,

he follows her across the lawn,

tries to mount and with a flap of wings

she flies away, he follows her,

pursues his love…

I wish I could fly away but I’m still here

squawking screeching deep inside,

seething, spitting silent venom

whilst putting out new suet balls. 

Anna o]

Inspired by watching the birds in my garden, the human bit is pure fiction.  

Shared with the good folk at Poets United, hosted by Mary, cheers Mary!

Video courtesy of YouTube