CURSE OF THE SUPHUR-CRESTED COCKATOO



i’m not cock-a-hoop
cooped in this hoop
doing solitary
feeling seedy
i’m bored just perching around
or lurching to ground
crestfallen

how can I keep my pecker up
when the crooked bill frames me, sets me up?
whenever some canary squeals
                                    hello cocky, hello cocky!
                                    who’s a pretty boy?  who’s a pretty boy?
it sticks in my craw, gets up my dander

i want to scream          not you, you stickybeak
                                    snotty-nosed corncob freak
                                    keep your filthy claws out of my cage!

grrr! i have this urge   to screech my rage
                                    erect my crest
                                    beat my breast
                                    breathe brimstone fires
                                    melt iron bars
                                    cock a snook &throw a fit
                                    beat it on a midnight flit
                                    stretch my wings
                                    make phone wires zing
                                    pinch scarecrows’ butts
                                    crunch farmers’ nuts

oh, i’d kick  up such a kerfuffle
i’d ruffle even your feathers
i’d knock your cocks off, youse galahs!

                                                            Michael Small
August, 1992

pub. Centoria, no.11, October, 2011

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