The vulture perched atop my roof

The liquid snowcap total proof

Making every attempt to appear aloof

While I flapped my wings at him

It’s quite illegal to make him dead

Against blue sky his noggin red

At every shout he cocked his head

While I flapped my wings at him

He has no fear and skin like leather

Prefers my roof in cooler weather

Knows that flight requires feather

While I flapped my wings at him

My skinny arms produce no lift

So his interest had begun to drift

His arrogance got me so damned miffed

I quit flapping my wings at him

I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer

Took a mighty slug to make mind clear

Returning to the deck with a nasty sneer

And threw the can at him

The empty can fell ten feet shy

He looked at me and in reply

Took a birdie dump that wasn’t dry

The gauntlet had been thrown

I returned to the fridge for another can

Determined to be the better man

Took a tiny sip continuing my plan

And threw another can at him

This time the can carried weight

Though the toss itself was not that great

Into the air the bird flapped straight

Then settled back again

A penny saved is a penny earned

But a wasted beer on bird returned

Made me contemplate what I have learned

About living in the woods

The forest is this bird’s home too

So I decided that what I have to do

Is pretend my snowcap isn’t poo

But is instead the Matterhorn

As a postcard it won’t win awards

But at least the direction I’m moving towards

Coexistence with all of nature’s wards

And the preservation of my beer

Copyright 2011 Patrick Granfors