White beaked Messerschmitts

take vantage position

on the decaying church roof

as they crowd and wait

with piercing eyes

the early morning frenzy

of laid down black bags

the parcel corpses of the bread,

too far gone for morphine,

and they attack on mass.

The streets are filled with caw bullets

sprayed

and laughed by brains

so small

these creatures of the air,

and yet they know

our habits,

the disease and plague of waste to us,

but a banquet of riches

waiting to be devoured.

The Messerschmitts,

and the land army

that follows,

every Friday morning

swoop and tear the carcasses

 as they

 no longer resemble any form till

those that refuse and collect

their stripes, defend these streets

from the beasts, those

white beaked Messerschmitts

 and the hunger for death in their eyes.   

Ian D. Hall 2022