A Morning Magpie Thief Why is he taking my flowers?
A Morning Magpie Thief
I caught him again,
that black and white thief,
with the beady eye,
and no shame to speak of.
He darts in,
like it’s his god-given right,
plucks my plastic peonies,
like some feathered decorator,
on a budget.
It’s not even nesting season,
so what’s he building?
A palace?
A shrine?
A disco in the trees?
I yell, I clap,
he flaps off,
flower in beak,
smug as sin.
Next morning,
he’s back.
Basket lighter,
bird prouder,
me crosser.
I paid good money for those,
I tell him,
but he doesn’t care.
Nature, he reckons,
he owns the lot.
Half my basket’s gone now,
so I’m not buying any more.
I am angry Mr Sneaky thief
he look and off he goes,
more flowers in his beak.
Good morning, magpie,
how’s your wife?
Does she know you’re a thief?
Goodbye.
This is a true story. Every day he takes my flowers? Why where too? If he wasn’t so beautiful I would wack him lol