On rides to work I pass the way,
where many leathered feet do splay.
But the owners of those shoes are not
The target of this mottled sot.

This winged thing of tar and white
One moment gone and next in sight
As swoop and pass he makes above
Brimmed with hatred and with love

The mere thought of it would have me flinch
How near he swoops but few an inch
From the helmet worn and red
That splendid sits upon my head

While blessed, naïve passers by
Turn a cheek or smile so wry
To tensest joust played out ahead
Between this sod and helmet red.

Aft more metres than I care to count
This little demon wheels about
And sits upon a pole or light
One moment there and next no sight.

Leaving me to whisk away,
Alas, I’m back before new day
And once more forced to suffer that
In the morn come I adorned with cat…