The Peckham Pigeon
doesn’t strut
she’s not that vain
too busy dodging traffic
on one good leg
the other’s lame.
Arse in the air
thick around the middle
a waddle
a flutter
of feathers the colour of lead
but it has to be said
to Puff Daddy she’s the bee’s knees.
He fans his tail
extends his chest
coos his caress
to his one true love
his mate, the Peckham Pigeon.

(published South Bank Poetry)