My garden restaurant clientele
are loyal regular customers;
ethically diverse they vary
in their characters as well.
Cocky sparrow boys push their way past
timid uncomplaining dunnocks;
busy bluetits move so fast
they leave their greater cousin flummoxed.
All alone in a polka dot dress
a poor old thrush repeats herself;
nearby a posing blackie blessed
with as good a voice shows better health.
A hubbub of new arrivals heralds
the locally infamous Finch's clan
(quarrelsome green, bejewelled gold)
who soon get in their usual flap;
more respectable dapper chaffinch
none the less hints a secret life;
mysterious bullfinch home on leave
from spying comes to find his wife.
A gang of noisy starlings enters
respecting nothing for street cred,
baiting jackdaw for her headscarf,
calling pigeon 'Old Pinhead'.
Even so they stand aside for
braggart magpie who they know
sometimes acts unwilling guide for
gangster godfather Old Man Crow.
There's only one bird lives to kill -
psycho sparrowhawk Mac the Knife
yet freebird robin unafraid still
whistles the corner late at night.
So now my story's at an end
but if you think it's been too brief,
what you must do is just suspend
some feeders and your disbelief.
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