A thud, then a shatter

as birds do not splatter

but combust as they colide

with glass.

“Not another damn bird!”

the exclaim the neighbors heard

through the hole in the wall

where a window once was.

Blood covers the floor,

why it must be I’m not sure,

as does sharp shards

of shattered glass.

Exploding birds sure are a pain in the ass.

While burying the fellow

would have made me quite mellow,

the feathery bomb

is by far the superior mess.