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.