I was absent-mindedly listening
to a vegetarian sausage 'crispening'
in tinfoil on the barbecue grill,
not sizzling, yet not entirely still,
when I suddenly heard a tapping,
then the sound of bird wings flapping
before something struck me on the head,
bouncing off against the garden shed.
The dropping was a walnut,
its shell still partly shut,
the culprit was a hungry rook
that had unwittingly hit the cook.
Never mind, I forgive you, bird,
but I'll keep your walnut for dessert.