by Paul Tyler

Thin chippers, white bread doodlers,little humdingers, froth-whipped mobs of bugged-up feather, wire-creep for evening shots at eave lips. Roof litter, hived in heaps of tossed together rubbish tangles, house clackers, vent jammers. Quick eye-bits spot loose nibbles, crumb leeches craving a crud-fix. Wind thrips bully at the seed-grab, four season bird box stuffers, bashing bluebirds. City smudges with snail-slicked beaks, junk-snapping wrapper addicts, street grubs preening grit, all pebble-footed and smokey. Crock full of croak, one-note wonders, sidewalk gravel peddlers bland survivors.

Paul Tyler has lived in the Yukon, Vancouver, Brighton England, Baltimore, and now Ottawa. His poems have appeared recently in Prairie Fire, Grain, The Antigonish Review, and the anthology Listening with the Ear of the Heart. He is currently an associate editor with Arc Poetry Magazine and works as a library reference assistant.