Peacock Passion

This was written while sitting at an outside table in the courtyard of a typical National Trust tea room, somewhere in the  Midlands. Observing Nature in the raw.


A peacock is wiggling his bottom

At two peahens without much success

His  fluttering feathers

Are fluorescent, however

The ladies just couldn't care less

He'd backed himself into a corner

Hemmed in by National Trust chairs

He's doing a dance

Absolutely no chance

Of taking the girls unawares

"Please look at my eye-speckled feathers

And be my beloved for ever

You're a hot little hen,

Be my tottie and then,

I can stop these exhausting endeavours"

For I hate every last bloody feather

If I had my way I'd happily sever

Each last one from my tail

Be a punk peacock male

I'd start a new fashion

Wear the trousers

And slash 'em …

Be the king of this lawn, dressed in leather!

© nigel hallworth 2021