We saw a shrike last sunday —
The Butcher bird, or Red-backed shrike,
Should not be trusted with your bike.
The pump and light he whips away,
And takes the spokes to spike his prey.
According to my brother-in-law, “The poet is James Fenton. The poem is delivered somewhere deep inside the pages of Into the Heart of Borneo, way upriver, at a drunken party in which spontaneous performance is required of guests. You would enjoy that book.”
Ours was a loggerhead shrike, but still something to see.