Pigeons

Throw them one tiny breadcrumb
And they gather and attack each other.
Like savages.

One miniscule piece leads to
Fights, arguments, anger.
There is no peace,
No one will rest until the crumb

Is devoured whole.
The crumb is tiny,
Insignificant and broken up.
Pecked by starving beaks.

Just a diminished piece of trash
Left behind for someone to stomp on.
The small gray fowl see a feast.
Torn apart into even smaller pieces.

You may take this humble crumb my friends.
Take it and do not return it.
I do not want it back.
Fight and tear away at it.

They do not see the crumb in the end
It is simply a battle of dominance.
Just who is stronger, better, bigger.
The crumb has disappeared.

Been slickly nabbed up
By one creature who cared not
About the need to be the best.
A creature not blinded by the need to win.

Now there is only infuriated squawking
Order restoration.
There is nothing left.
Only angry birds and broken wings.