Personal Pelican
Apologies to Heaney
As a kid, they could not keep me from birds.
I'd throw them chips I bought from the fish van.
I loved the quick flit and the way they soared --
a gull or sparrow to the outstretched hand.
One on a Brighton beachfront with yellowed eyes.
I liked the way he trotted on the sand
and with imperious comport capsized
in my lap, made off with the contraband.
A nervous one under a bare hedgerow
debated on the topic of the seeds
I scattered far too long, until a crow
swept in and snatched away the choice to feed.
Still others you could grab if you were quick,
caress or tickle, shove into a pocket
or, with some bravery, give a little lick.
I caught a barn owl with an upturned bucket.
Now, to tear the bread, to finger a feather,
to toss a pigeon at the sky or chatter
back to the parrot, is far and well beneath me.
So I wax lyrical upon the matter.
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