The stone feathers barely ruffle
in the effigy to the fallen fowl
misled as the funny fatal flaw
in avian folklore recklessly finds
that the community that flocks together
far below them in the passageways,
the streets of the important town,
group together, finding friends like seagulls
perching, fiendishly watching, squalling
for the left over bits of fish dropped
from frowning Government semi-official,
offal like folk.
Ian D. Hall 2016