The Secret Lives of Chimney Pots Iv
Pied tidings of suburbian
Magpies,
Squawking and squabbling,
Quarreling ferociously among
Themselves -
Rush to steal
From off the beleaguered bird
tables,
To the annoyance of all concerned,
A much begrudged meal;
Before scurrying away into
Unfrequented woodlands,
Marooned like islands in the
Midst of becalmed yellow seas,
To pervade the shifting groves
With their fractious demands...
When violently quarreling over
Ill-gotten troves
Like double-crossing thieves
And masked brigands;
Or murderous pirates dividing into
Groups
Spoiling for a fight -
Behind drawn up lines in the hot,
White sand!
Soon, where presently the
Swaying oceans
Of ripened and bronzed corn,
The galloping sounds of many
Drumming hooves,
The flash of red-crimsoned
Hunting jackets -
And the chill tooting upon the
Masters deathly horn!
When contained behind Hawthorn
Hedgerows
And inside Five-Bar gated fields,
Deep within the stiffened stalks
Wherein the nesting Harvest mouse
Cleverly conceals,
The threshing of mechanically
Rotating flails
Over the rumbling sounds of
Monstrously turning wheels...
Trundling remorselessly past
The succumbed swathes
Of a golden harvest -
When surrendering the generous
Bounties
Of her reaped and plentiful yields!
Down past the pristine shrubbery
She briskly trips -
Gliding serenely past the
Multi-coloured Asters
And rigidly standing, upright tulips.
Each counted minute staggers and
Sneaks...
Into the next counted minute where
Boredom keeps;
And brightening rays fall thicker
Upon Noon...
As shortening shadows recede from
Over her idling commune.
A squeaky side gate swings open
Tensioned throughout a long
Strained, objectionable creak,
As her precious bundle from a
Designer-label buggy takes an
Inquisitive first peek.
Throwing all in the car, irritated
By the school playgrounds hub-bub
And agitated squeal,
She accelerates away in a frenzied
Rush -
Like Stirling Moss behind the
Wheel!
Racing through the confines of
Your average de-industrialised town
She wrenches in sheer exasperation
Upon the gearboxes much maligned
Lever: Up-down, down-up, up-down!
Completely oblivious to the
Shuddering resistance of the
Sheering cogs awful grinding
Sounds...
She wrestles with the complexity
Of a shredding clutch -
Whilst loudly abusing and
Berating her fellow motorists all
Around.
Zipping over Zebras and Pelicans,
Unconcerned with all manner of
Indignant and unrestrained pleas,
She zooms along the not-so-open
Highways
In varying indifferences of breathless
Degrees!
Many types of vehicles of all makes
And designs,
Parked-in tight under identical
Trees...
That are evenly set out in
Parallel lines.
A dazzling array of motors from
Nations wide and far:
Cumbersome and vulgar
Four-Wheeled drives -
Macho appareled
With chromed Bull-Bars,
High-sided (boasting proud livery)
White delivery vans
Conceived and manufactured in
Alien faraway lands.
Huge panes of toughened glass
Mirroring the inter-mingling streets,
Reflecting the ever changing tastes
Of the general populace,
Crammed with modern necessities
Displayed enticingly in beguiling
Replete.
For throughout every fashionable
Season,
We, the pots, have beheld:
The evolving visage of our frontages
Where successive generations of your
Forefathers...
Demonstrating practiced temperance,
And in all good faith,
Once satisfactorily dwelled.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2016
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