At the high point, with two views of the cradling sea
Round this small island, chickens control the road
In a blatant extortion racket. Footpads, or worse,
Amazon bandits – not ordinary hens –
Flaunting bright, glossy feathers, strong, handsome legs,
They hold to ransom startled visitors.
A mistake, it turns out, to linger to admire
With pockets devoid of any offerings.
They flutter shoulder high to attack an ear,
Peck viciously at ankles, hands and shins.
No people about. One solitary cow
Without a glance goes slowly sauntering on.
The strangers turn tail and flee to the friendly shore.
In the welcoming teashop, bird food is for sale.