Late Night Conversations
Late night conversations over coffee,
you are sure they still go on,
a pity they never reached conclusions,
but that time for you has gone.
Green parrot sits in the pet shop window,
on your walk, he makes you pause.
Feel sorry that he does not amuse you,
for you know he should be the neighbour
of the monkeys and the macaws
in some tropic jungle,
not to be on display,
to be bought by a human,
to live behind shut doors,
in the suburban muddle,
where his owner will try
to teach him to say Pretty Polly.
Still, mercifully his bird brain
does not know his life is far from jolly.
But you feel relieved
that all the dogs you see
are owned by humans,
otherwise they would be
hunting through the streets in packs.
Once a train is built,
it is best kept on the tracks.
As for cats, they’d all be
migrating back to Egypt,
to be fed milk by the handmaidens
of Cleopatra, and to recline
in tents, spicy with the scent of sherbet.
Once back in your flat,
you have a pie and coffee,
yearn for the days when life seemed easy,
sad to feel too old now not to care a toffee.
A nation of animal lovers,
such is Britain’s name,
but only if the animals are tame.