Ibis

Ordinarily, you see 
them on bins, beaks

like deep spoons,

bent like 

whimsical derricks-

and for their sins-

they awkwardly dip

into somebody's waste.

Surgeons, they 

tenderly incise:

part tissue and bone, but

Rarely do so in haste.

From a height

they ply the

mouldering scraps,

smashed chips and

prawn heads,

a Parson's nose -

what a prize!

they are,

bin chickens, it seems,

almost by design.

But today

I saw an Ibis

in a mad storm,

Striding fevered puddles

Like a ballet star.