I am a LOUDMOUTHED PRATT,

I am a LOUDMOUTHED PRATT,

And  I always know what I am talking about.

Poets of today just endlessly drivel  on

About finches in their back gardens

Unless they are so-called wrappers

Spouting urban angst.

But that don’t bother me

Because I can only hear my own BOOMING TONES,

When go out into my

Suburban back garden

AND SHOUT

To drive the finches away.

Stupid little brown birds

Twittering incessantly

Not like proper birds like the crow

Who sits on my chimney stack

Next to the television aerial

And says CAW

Whenever I go out of my front door

Because it  always knows what it is talking about.