#2,499 Rook War

Our constant end-of-day rooks
squabble – they will not cease –
their wide cloaks’ shimmers’ll
offer them a creasing uniform
as they turn to fight – almost a
foreign scream of heat & calls –
inches gained on stab-to-rule
branches – in position – a brief
republic [an undignified place
of sweat – of fat power brokers
dealing fat beaks] – clamours –
a parliament – a building of all
those rioting birds set in calls-
&-response – we are not clever
in their aged dark ways [glints
in bead-eyes] – skaw of threats
enough to make kids retreat &
auld folk to grab hatted heads
in bent-to defence under flight
paths of dropping shit & sticks