You’d think its eyes were
somewhat like saucers;
not wheels or wind-mills,
plus a head linked to
a something corkscrew,
which could turn,
face your
sly try from the rear;
ask if you’re Shakespeare
or the time doctor.
This: -Vile Impostor!
Pretender Professor!
No matter how still
its sit on the branch,
its icon colors
dirty bronze copper-
no kind of Buddha.
You, never mind your
feather-frame halo
–eater of vermin!–
whole! I saw you gulp,
headfirst, a whole rat,
like
it
was
going…
home!
Yes, I do do too!
eat stages of rot
deemed
even
cuisine.
Still my favorite bird,
you, who can also
turn your head around:
you don’t also turn…
Yes, I’ve heard cats can.