Her Harbour

Only when
You were tarred and feathered
Could she it.
Sipping her tea
Before dumping her backwash
Into the harbour
She conceded that,
Yes,
You in fact resembled
A bird
Of the flightless variety.
Field glasses to watch them
By day
In your blue socks
Shin high;
Your beak in books
About birds
Night after redundant night,
She drew further still
From the muddled muck
Of ever deigning to think
She could think of touching you.
“Look, a sparrow;
there, a blue jay….”
Like an anaconda,
Repulsion
Wrapped itself round ideal
And left this.
Just when
Did you get your head
So far up your arse,
And ain’t she the greater fool
To have followed
Done nothing
Just stopped caring?
Red coats
Bleached white
In time
They’ll come to take her away
Oh yes
To fish her
From her harbour of tea,
And all the while
You just won’t stop
Making bird noises…
Always domestic …
Outside her head
Then in
You flightless bird
Come nothing
Outside and in
Until there is no memory…
Safe harbour
Just....