Every single day we have two pigeons who plonk themselves on the back garden fence. It starts off all very civilised then after a few minutes, it all kicks off. Gets a little bit racy.
I like to think of it as two Pigeons practising for their WWE wrestling trials. Clearly what we are seeing is a spectacular flying elbow seamlessly transitioning into a deadly Coup de Grace finisher. Apparently son is not convinced. He is picking up the courage to explain the birds and the bees to me.
After an all too short wrestling match (or something else) the two move apart and refuse to talk to each other. So like life really……
So last week it was the last Terrible Poetry contest. To much celebrations it looked like I had hung up my poetry pants for good. Well….
So my poetry retirement lasted 6 days. Sorry to disappoint everyone. Unusually this poem is not aimed at Boris Johnson. However as Boris is a massive BIRD brain, I did find a way to get a little abuse hurled at him – points will be awarded to the first person to find it in this hopefully truly appalling poem. See Terrible Poetry still lives………
Blimey what are those birds doing
Oh it’s such seedy x-rated viewing
Really, on our back garden fence as well
Is it not behaviour best saved for a seedy motel
Surely they are spoiling our gorgeous farmland view
Interrupting our peaceful world with something so taboo
Spending every day exchanging birdie pleasantries
Always trying to make so many more feathered babies
Fooling around as if there is no tomorrow
Oh having such fun and never showing any sorrow
One overriding thought about those feathered huggers
Lashings of rummy pumpy, those lucky little buggers
My excuse is that we don’t use a G rating in the UK. So I assume that G means Generally any word is Good to use.