He barrels in out of the sky,
Fat Robin. A feathered softball
of a bird, beak jutting,
fluffing his wings, strutting,
eyeing the scrawny sparrows,
finding them wanting.
In the patio pool and bird-bar
that is my backyard fountain,
Fat Robin is that tipsy,
belligerent, tweeting barfly
challenging resident crows,
bullying even the bluejay.
He cannonballs
into the fountain bowl with
a chirped "Geronimo!"
A gout of water erupts,
scattering timid onlookers while
he blithely orders another round.
Birdbrain.
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