Them damn magpies.
When they’re not nicking diamonds
Or pearls or some such trinkets,
They’re squabbling over scraps.
Gabbling with their angular voices.
Wrangling, over styrofoam chips,
Or batter and bits soaked in gravy.
Bickering, over seed pod cereal bars,
Or platinum-edged gum wrappers.
Nit-picking over feast-details;
Feuding over takeaways.