Perspective # 1 – His.
She was mesmerised by me
I could see it in her eyes
I put on all me best moves
though she was playin’ it cool, like
pretending not to notice
I could see she was impressed
she was just playin’ hard to get,
like they do.
When I went near another bird
she looked proper jealous, too,
I reckon I’m in there mate,
don’t you?
Perspective # 2 – Hers.
‘E was strutting 'is stuff
y'know, all puffed up
full of 'is own importance
thinking 'e was something,
like 'look at me darlin'
and I’m like 'you must be joking'
So I just kept nibbling
at the buffet
turning me back and walking away
like 'No Way, Jose'.
Last I saw, 'e was pestering
some other bird, poor thing.
Perspective # 3 - Mine.
Pigeons, eh?
The way they carry on.
Makes me wonder
how the baby pigeons
are ever born.
Or hatched.
Or whatever.
Have you ever stood and watched a group of pigeons? I always feel so sorry for the males, they try so hard and get constantly blanked by the females.
For some reason, the ones in this poem seem to have a Liverpool accent when I read it out loud.
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