Wednesday 13 March 2019

PHEASANT





Bullies like Fatty Robbo formed me.
After terrorized weeks he got me,
But only a bloodied nose.
I got a second clout
For what I called him in front of Mum.
“Go sort it out” she said. I did.
Jumping him in his own hallway
I gave him the glad news.
And that ended that.

Ever since I’ve hated bullying.
So I feel for the cock pheasant
Having his beak pushed in it
On the long drive,
Harried by his rival every few seconds:
A dandy in finery going to no ball.
I deal with the bully.
A .22 and a roasting pan.
That old element of surprise.

No comments:

Post a Comment