"Mackenpar!"
This is what he shrieks
to ward away the Sally cats
living in the fridge.
"Sullowleelay,"
is what he hums in meek-bright welcome
to the black-currant pixies
that dance like exploding black holes
on the ceiling of his underwater shoe.
Black and red slingback, Manolo Blahniks.
Life is bleak, locked in a shoe-
you're prone to getting caught in an OCD loop:
Close left eye, open.
Close right eye, open
watching a kestrel through the window
stiff as a corpse,
each vision flick
giving it just enough time
to open beak, hook a claw
until it turns into a skinless man
then back to a lamp-post.
After a conversation with a passing sea-crow
Father comes with pills,
plates of food arranged into smiling faces
that only leer with shrill pitch.
However, daily a gangly prostitute
with blotchy silicone lips
ambles past the house.
Then, with purest delight
he bounces at the window-ledge to roar out,
"Fish!"
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