I put down glue to ick their feet –
They collected twigs
To cover it.
I placed a swivel-headed owl –
Then perched right on it.
I hung CDs on a dental-floss line –
The pigeons shrugged,
And pulled it.
My peristeronic battle is at impasse.
I call it truce.
I know I’m beat.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: peristeronic in 53 words
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