My car was parked beneath a tree,
More gingkoish than oaken;
I never noticed birds a’perched,
Yet each one left a token.
The windshield was opaquely masked;
The roof and sides were splattered.
They missed the turned-in mirror,
Though that hardly even mattered.
You really had to give them props;
They surely were effective
In doing such a thorough job –
I held off my invective.
We call somebody bird-brain
When we denigrate their smarts,
But mischief made of droppings
Proves their humor’s off the charts!
Copyright © ilene bauer