A Morning Magpie Thief

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