Derelict sparrows attacked me
yesterday, as I sat at a coffee
shop patio. They were after my
muffin, not my poetry. I told
them they'd better damn well
kill me. It was down to that.
I wasn't giving up a crumb.
The fight was on, by God.
They hopped around my feet
in a silly dance, drunk on
rain puddle hooch.
I borrowed a broom from
the barista then roared into
them like a mob, but the little
bastards were of a certain
disposition. And, as it turned
out, more bulletproof than
engine blocks.
Submitted: February 26, 2025
© Copyright 2025 zorba3150. All rights reserved.
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