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.

Pondering

I wonder why the world is round, I wonder why sky’s blue,

I wonder why I know when someone’s cooking chicken stew.

I’d like to know the reason for the postman coming to knock,

Or why I’m fond of chewing nice clean pants and bright white socks.

I wonder where they go when they say “Bye, Daisy! Be back soon!”

And why I get a walk at 9am, and one at noon.

I don’t know why I find it hard to tread the basement stairs,

Or why it is my eyes and ears and nostrils come in pairs.

I like the piano playing but I hate it when they shout,

I wonder why I’m edgy when there’s no one in the house.

I can bear the sound of boiling water and of popping toast,

But if the front doorbell should ring, I lose my freaking loaf.

I don’t mind little people - no, I simply find them odd -

But do I ever hate tall men and their big wiry bods.

The dog next door’s a terror but I really love our cat,

We sit and watch the world revolve, on our front door mat.

I’m curious about so very many splendid things,

Like what on earth a telephone is, and why the hell it rings.

And why I have to wee outside, even when it’s cold,

And why I have to ‘sit’ and ‘lie down’. Man, that’s getting old.

It’s strange that no one’s thought to ask me for my own opinion,

I’d rather like to have a glass of red and a discussion

About the wondrous things in life and why it’s all so funny,

But just right now I’d like someone to come and scratch my tummy.