by Jenny Erlanger
From morning to evening its scream can be heard,
a warning to all from this dive-bombing bird.
My brother’s too frightened to venture outdoors.
He’s already suffered a scratch from its claws
and Dad has to run from the house to the shed
his arms waving stupidly over his head.
It happens the moment we step out of place,
that flurry of feathers, that beak in the face.
So, hurry up babies and fly from your nest.
Your mother’s becoming a serial pest.