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