A Stormy Defense
The National bird of Malta is the Blue Rock Thrush.
A man I know has one in a cage I hate
& it pangs as on cliffs like some quasi –
What — royal confined seeking — what?
Bahnan! I say — there’s no cliff to spasm anymore.
Uncatchable — I opt the Storm Petrel or Hydrobates pelagicus.
Sailors call them “Stormies.” Most birds, like the
Blue Rock, can fly quick by this I mean it is their first line
Of defence — the Stormy’s flight
I have heard is delayed. They — I —
imagining us without time as We writing-reading now –
Prefer to nest on collapsing plateaus
For there’s defense there.
Our preferred — In Verbis Militum or
second line of defence — is in fact –
At least the Maltese type — a British arsenal’s
Fragements unleashed ashore to the clock & yardage
Measurable on a jagged, inhospitable, solitary — crag.
On the Isle of Filfla sometimes we burrow under soil if there is any
Sometimes we share a rabbit hole if there is one & dig
Side burrows out of our predecessors — for what?
It must be some courtesy back out of labour admired .
We don’t line our nesting chambers with our down.
And we’ll defend that same chamber sans
Eggs and offspring. Our neighbours can kill us without
Any sign of villainy & we mate for life:
Same nest — same mate — same fate.
Above Filfla night sky black.
Milky Way out. Stars fall — a military volley
Abandon ticks and closed room. Compounds
Degrade. Museum specimens can’t keep a smell for ages.
Defensive — out of a Hamlet’s spite — Stormies spit strong-smelling oil –
It’s impossible to get rid of it —the scent smells for days.
(Nocturnal pairs) displaying male chases —
Chase accompanied by slight calls. Nearby
Mates silently guard small caves of breeding.