Peacock Envy

Oh, good grief, he's doing it again,
Flapping about like a lunatic on crack,
Right in the middle of me telling him
How mortgage repayments have gone up.

He’s such a show-off, that pea-cock.

I never realised it before,

You know, but he only does it

When the cameras

Come out. Performing clown.

I’m sure he never, ever listens to me.

Like the time I told him Royal Mail

Lost that cheque in the post,

Or when my car failed its MOT. Nothing.

Just prunes and puffs, puffs and prunes.

A broken record,

A really dull broken record,

Not the sort of record you don’t mind

Skipping because you like all the bits anyway.

Your oohs and aahs have really

Gone to that minuscule head of his.

Look at it! It’s tiny! It’s like a teaspoon

Sitting on a big blue pear.

Anyway, they don’t know this, but he’s moulting.

I found some of those gaudy feathers behind

The old oak. And the other day I heard him

Behind the holly bush, sniffling and

Crying because he’d found a grey one.

I could totally get the attention,

If I wanted it.

Not that I do.

I just need a lick of paint.