A train of Jackdaws

hopped on stiletto claw on board

the fifteen forty out of Wolverhampton,

bob tails waggling, beaks opening with wild

inquisitive shrills,

their voices

displaying nothing but the search for worms

in the dirt, the mud a step too far

for the preening old birds

with florescent feathers,

the odd battle scar where the edges were ripped

as they tussled and tore at life…

Finding water

unpalatable, the inexhaustible selfie

drags itself once more into existence

and the high pitched squeal of bird like delight