The Pea-green Sea Boat

The Piggy-wig gazed
At a pea-green sea
The couple
It seemed, were not coming

And he sat on the hill
By the last Bong-tree
Upon crates full of mince
And of honey

Said the Turkey, how long
Should we wait for their song
The song
Of the Pussy and Owl

To ring through the glare
And find us both here
Two runcible friends
Pork and fowl?

The Piggy-wig winced
And, slicing a quince
From its wrapper
They’d bought for a pound

Noted, again
Just how long, my dear friend
He’d been eyeing the sea
For the drowned

A year and a day
Maybe five, true to say
He had sat
With a strung out guitar

Penning nasally ballads
While the Turkey made salads
For a marriage
All knew couldn’t last

A bird from the floor
Of parliament, sure
Looks good to a cat
Running low

On lives, having spent
Eight of them on the rent
And tarried
With pigeons and crows

But they promise you much
Then gobble you up:
You should never
Believe in a bird

Who can turn his whole head
Full round in a circle
While Learing at you:
It’s absurd!

Said Turkey, your snout
Rung the words from my mouth
But I cluck, I shall
Wager a shilling

That a cat has more lives
But that’s simply denied
By those who are blind
Or not willing

And while we are here
Piggy-wig, wiggy dear
With your penchant
For plentiful squabbling

I say I could teach you
There are other creatures
Well versed in
The arts of gobbling.

Well, the Piggy-wig turned
His back on the bird
And sat lone
As the sunshine was setting

And there came ’cross the water
A vessel two short of
The number required
For a wedding

Like the Mary Celeste
Gently caressed
By the rhythm of
The deep green sea

It’d held a known course
Its table resourced
With a ham
And hot frozen peas

And strung to the bow
Was a note to the Owl
That the Piggy construed
To be stern

Good luck with your sailing
It said, I am bailing
It’s two hundred years
Since we ran

Away in this dinghy;
I've endured your singing
What a beautiful
Pussy I am

I am, I am
What a beautiful pussy
What a beautiful
Pussy I am

Well, I already know
What a beauty I am;
I’ve known since
The day I was born

The dots in the heavens
And prevailing winds
Are of far more
Pressing concern

While you’ve been crooning
Your nonsense tunings
To the stars above
And the moon

Did you notice me
Emptying the sea
From our leaky boat
With a spoon?

Y’see, the thing about
Lives is, it’s hard
To divine if you’ve nine
Or nine hundred more

So hey diddle diddle
The Piggy in the middle
Will sort you out
When you get to the shore

Signed, The Pussy cat,

Sincerely,
Yours

This poem appears in

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