by Tarquin Parry-Wingfield

Sonnets speak of love, mine will speak of hate;

Our relationship quickly went downhill,

When you kindly began to defecate

Both on and inside my two window sills.

You know what you have done, you must feel smug;

To make it worse, you litter your feathers;

Did no one warn you that we all hate thugs?

I am beyond the end of my tether.

O pigeon, it was all fun and games to start,

But now it has gone too far: things must change!

No longer can I bare your faecal art;

My windows are becoming out of range.

Defy this! Dare to attack with your strikes!

Maintenance department has found some spikes.