Blackbirds loomed large in last week's poetry choices.

Today Gene Groves offers the amusing conceit of starlings as the wide boys of the garden. Sadly, at least in my part of suburbia, these endearing garden gangsters, along with the aristocratic thrushes, seem largely to have disappeared. (From Flambard's second anthology of New Poets.)

STARLINGS WITH VIOLIN CASES

These Mafia hustlers

Call the shots,

Oust puny sparrows

From their territory.

Machiavellian organisers

They lord it over the lawn,

Swagger in fancy

Italian designer suits.

Tugging spaghetti worms

Out of the earth

They swallow them al dente

Afterwards sing arias.