Known to many as flying rats,
but they’re wrong,
the working class
of the bird world,
the ones that stayed on
as brick placed on brick.

Not pure and flitting in meadows
but surviving amidst the man-made,
not what birds should be, eh?
Dirty and deformed,
the markers of staying on with us,
of sticking it out with progress,
and we punish them for that.

Hope it doesn’t worsen,
if they gobble our smoke butts,
drinking from puddles
of vomit and beer
perhaps they, too, will lose their wings
like us.

First published on The Blue Hour:



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