Rude Awakening

the 4am pigeon

is late on parade

as dawn finally deigns to

lift her cloudy skirts,

I seem to have

nodded off in the stalls

and am rudely nudged by

a doody-doo-ing

repeat refrain from

a silver waist-coated pigeon

unsteadily tottering around

the rim of the birdbath,

a rotund music hall tenor

still full of last night’s ale,

my grumpy staccato applause

delivered through the open pane

sees him take a bow

and exit stage left

in much of a hurry,

me half-blindly stumbling

on the stairs, also exit

in search of the teapot

Published by grahamrsherwood