A Terrible Poem About Birds

The plague birds are not social distancing;
I don’t think they’ve listened to the CDC at all.
For fuck’s sake, they’re flocking together.
Someone call the authorities;
Someone levy fines.

People who know about birds call ’em ibises.
I don’t nothing about anything,
Especially birds:
Little loud ones;
Patriotic ones;
Colorful ones.
Some taste good fried.
Not a lot of meat on a plague bird.
Mostly beak.

I’ll make you a deal,
Plague bird:
Your wings for my brain.
I’ll fly over Target
And the orthodontist’s office;
The shuttered diner, too.
You sit here and think
About Medicare fraud
And the infield fly rule
And whether Toscanini was hung.
You find a better offer, you take it.