Birds of a Feather

Rustling from above
alerts him to its presence.
A creature of the air, born from the sky,
clawing at his gutter,
squawking in his ears.
Tinking left and right.
Voyeuristic, brown and manged,
filled with lice and dirty. Poky, yellow snout
prowling, exposing it's beady belly
to his windowsill.

He slithers to the cupboard,
then aims his sight at the roof.
It's been replaced, cheerfully,
whistling him a rainbow,
more radiant than a painting,
what a sight to see! "Oh, lorikeet",
he sweetly chirps,
"where are all your friends?"