Garuda stickytapes whoopie-cushions beneath his bastard wings
and ascends from the throne room, farting.
He hoodwinks a cuckoo into bringing up a family of racoons
and paying their way through art college.
He dyes his scapular feathers blue, white and red
and insists - for the entire week - that he is French.
The bird parliament do their best to laugh with roistering good humour
as he struggles through these - and worse - antics,
mindful on the whetted edges of his hind claws,
the field mice shivering in his beak.
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