Psittacus Erithacus... with apologies to Poe

Psittacus erithacus


Just last Sunday I was sitting as my wife, engrossed in knitting
a bobble-hat and scarf for me to wear when out on winter’s days,
said, ‘Shh! Can you hear knocking? Listen closely… Hear them talking?
I think it’s hawkers hawking. Please go tell them, ‘Go away!’
Yes my sweet, my darling, I’ll tell them to go away,
for they’re spoiling our day
~~~~~
I got up to send them packing with my hips and knees a-cracking.
Slippers firmly on my feet, I shuffled on my merry way.
Past the coat stand and umbrellas to sort out these dodgy fellas
(shoddy second-hand goods sellers) and say, ‘Go on, get away!’
I’d mentally rehearsed my speech: ‘Be off now. Go away!
For you’re spoiling our day.’
~~~~~
Just then I thought, ‘But if they’re strangers I could well be put in danger
with my features rearranged for they may not do as I say.
I think perhaps I’ll use the spy hole; there I’ll get a proper eyeful.
How I wish I had a rifle: that would frighten them away
They’d darken not my door again and, quick, they’d run away.
No more spoiling our day.’
~~~~~
I held my breath and closed one eye. Stooping down that I might spy
whosoever were these guys who would gladly spoil our day,
but I found they weren’t inspectable for I’d forgot my spectacles.
So, with focus uncorrectable, I squinted anyway.
One eye closed, and holding breath, I squinted anyway
Just for those who’d spoil our day.
~~~~~
But quelle surprise and blow me down: there were no figures to be found
and though I would have stood my ground and told them: ‘Go away!’
They now were gone. Once there – now not. Perhaps they guessed they shouldn’t ought
to cause folk, with fear to be fraught… perhaps they ran away.
Mayhap they found their conscience and perhaps they ran away.
Just to spoil another’s day.
~~~~~
I turned and shuffled up the hall, past the coats and hats, et al,
just to hear my dear wife call, ‘Darling, come away.
Spend no more time on hawkers hawking. Now it’s our window someone’s knocking.
Help me dear… it needs unlocking.’ I answered, ‘On my way.
I’ll be there in a moment dear.’ I shuffled on my way.
‘Boy, this is spoiling my day’.
~~~~~
‘Hold on?’ I thought. ‘How odd.. and more: we live upon the seventh floor!'
Stay back my darling, I implore: this makes no sense I say.
How can a person be out there, a-floating, flying, treading air?
Red cape, large ‘S’, red underwear, would be the only way.
My dear, it must be Superman… could be the only way.
Let’s see what he has to say.’
~~~~~
I opened up and sternly spoke, ‘Now, Mr Kent this is no joke.
Stop pestering us normal folk with your super-hero ways.
We’re old and grey, with partial sight. We cannot help you in your fight
to rid the world of Kryptonite. So please be on your way
Give our regards to Lois Lane and please do fly away.
You are spoiling our day.
~~~~~
I like pizza! Came the words, repeated twice, and then a third.
While sounding, strangely, like a bird? I said, ‘What did you say?’
Twas then I realised what was there, upon the ledge, not in the air:
a parrot held me in its stare. A parrot… dull and grey.
‘How dare you tap my window Sir! Be off now. Go away
for you’re spoiling our day.’
~~~~~
I like pizza! It replied, and held me with its beady eye.
I gave a snort. My wife, she sighed, ‘Oh give it some I say.
Don’t be cruel or be so moany. Poor little thing is thin and bony.
I’m sure we have some pepperoni that I meant to throw away.’
So I gave the bird two slices then said, ‘Shoo! Now go away!
For you’ve truly spoiled my day.’
~~~~~
A week has passed: I’m sitting, as my wife (no longer knitting)
prepares our meal and at the stove she gently hums away.
On the TV men are talking, but all my ears can hear is squawking:
there perched upon the TV is the parrot – dull and grey.
We all now live on pizza… how I wish he’d go away.
I may boil him someday.

Monty Bing


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Skeery fun read