They're difficult to eat;
you can crush their hollow bones,
but the feathers choke you,
and the real bird's so much smaller
than they look with those tails and wings.
The game's the thing.

Cats with no training whatsoever
coolly perform the feats of acrobats.
We excel in every possible move
on the gameboard: we play to win.
Birds are the pieces that fly off the board
into their own dimension
while we stare and switch our tails,
gravity-bound.

Yet whether by accident or skill,
sometime against all odds you'll catch,
pierce, hold the trashing wings,
master the powers of air. It's worth
a lifetime's stalking, pouncing, getting fooled.
Feathers be damned.

by Louisa McDonald