Every Bird for Himself.

Look at all this food,
oh boy don't it look good.
A silent bite of bread to take
my mind off of this long flight.
And seconds from the feast,
I hear their cavalry arrive.
A thunderous army of black feathers
The dark cloud begins its dive.
But here's my own batallion.
The gulls from distant shore.
Swoop down for my defense
But they'e never looked that way before.
Eyes green,
fixed.
On what there is so little.
How can we share.
Not half a loaf of bread,
we're thousands of beaks
who need to eat.
Not enough is there.
And as the black clouds struck the white,
I heard the same cawing, clawing fight.
Nature's heart exposed in war,
my comrades fierce,
the blood the gore.
Spiling on the pavement, and puddling beneath
the bread.
The white and black are now met with
robin's red and the jay's blue.
The sky, the sidewalk are equally pallettes of
a violent incarnated hue.
I make a move but see his eyes.
a crow with purple chest,
his beak, his teeth, his build his size.
Am I to risk my life, my death.
for this tiny piece of bread.
It looks so good and such a ruse,
maybe that purple is a bruise.
And the light is playing tricks
on my laterally faced eyes.
But to my surprise he claimed the bread
and I felt claws press into my head.
I'm looking to the side
the pavement lays beside.
My bleeding feathered body.
My selfish raptors death.