Geese sit in packs outside our parked car.

Having scoped our exit, they wait — for bread or blood.

 

Sweat slicked and wearing expensive leggings — couples jog past

noses wrinkle in disdain

At us, the Human Farts.

 

Why do people in parks insist on eating their soft serves like they are sucking dicks?

 

A lone ibis.

Stigmatised by the bin-loving of his species

stands solitary and bereft of any bins,

as far as I can see.

 

In the trees above me, a juvenile bird makes an unceasing squall — its sound is eerily newborn.

 

Full of homeless people and The Gays

We were told

Before the yuppies moved in.

It’s much safer now, they assure us,

knowingly.

As if AIDS and the lack of affordable housing is something we should be embarrassed by.

 

We sit, uncomfortable, as the geese continue their siege.

Their tiny black eyes bore into our souls

Honking,

you just want to eat and shit

like the rest of us.