Mottled grey dollops of stone
mushroom profusely outside my home.
My home, where the heat hungers
for bodies to oppress.
My home, where the greyness tries it's best
to penetrate the screens I erect.
I view the world with both disdain and joy,
but seldom joy.
I am a bird with a ruffled temperament.
I grace my town
with a quizical cock-eyed gaze.
I wonder if I may be shot down, degraded or slowly basted...
All that would be left
would be the faded feathers.
I peck and preen
and try to keep it together,
but it's tough, you know it is.