In pre-dawn “off my rocker” spells
I analyse the cockerels
That run a verbal relay race
360 round my girlfriend’s place.
You’d think they have the self-same call
But, oh my goodness, not at all!
There’s one that gives a startled croak
As if a neighbour tried to choke
The blighter that had spoiled his sleep.
The next cry, though, is twice as deep.
A third puts in an extra note
As if a walnut’s in its throat.
Then from a fourth, with dreadful poise,
That “nails on blackboard” kind of noise.
They start to scratch each other’s itch
And over trump the last one’s pitch
Until a vibrant “doodle do”
Fires up a local dog or two
Which also do their best to be
Exponents of cacophony.
I’m sure that I can’t be the first
To think a quick machine-gun burst
Would mean for sure that one less bird
Would have its paranoia heard.
But I refrain, for nature’s sake.
Besides, by now, I’m wide awake.