‘Lonely?’ they asked, ‘Now
that you’re on your own?
Get a pet’ they said.
‘A faithful dog
or a sweet little kitty.’
But no, I went out
and bought a parrot.
I thought it would be
the ideal companion:
communicative.
I thought I’d teach it
to talk. Ha ha to that!
It must have had
a previous owner. Or,
maybe the pet shop man …?
No. This bird could only
have belonged to a pirate.
Talk about language!
I could just see him sitting
on Long John Silver’s shoulder.
The first time
I dropped something
and uttered a mild ‘Damn!’
he went to town,
as if it was a cue.
You should have heard
the colourful invective
coming out of his mouth!
I didn’t have a clue
what half of it meant.
But it sounded amazing.
And you can find
anything on Google.
Next time, I listened
and learned.
Now I’m a pro. I could
turn polite gentlemen
and other elderly ladies
into trembling,
terrified prudes.
It’s fun living alone,
free to express myself –
except for my parrot,
who teaches me
all the right words.
For NaPo I based this on the weird headline, 'Naughty Parrot Teaches Mistress To Use Cuss Words,' and the PAD prompt was to title our poem (Blank) Better.
Nice Parrot poem, Rosemary. My beloved grandfather cussed a lot, but never did he take the Lord's name in vein. I learned most cuss words from him, don't use them very often. There are several fellow posting folk writing every day, so far good for me. I could make a list of who I find but that takes time, two groups or more.
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Glad you liked it, Jim! A bit of fun.
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