The Pigeons Of Trafalgar Square

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The pigeons of Trafalgar Square,

Though not handsome, serve their purpose, well.

South of Soho fornication's sold, to

Those in need of such details.

Not far off St. Paul's sells GOD, and

HOPE and FAITH and JUDGEMENT DAY, to

Those who, enroute to SALVATION,

Fell off their high horse, ‘long the way .

"THE QUEEN IS DEAD!"

The headlines read,

(From drinking too much soda-pop.)

The headlines too, as did Lord Nelson proclaim:

"INDEED, IT'S LONELY AT THE TOP!"

"Westminster Abbey! Westminster Abbey!"

Like a guru to his unwashed masses,

Chants the cockney East-Ender's cabby .

Women sit amidst their gossip,

Telling one another tales, of

Finding God whilst sipping teas,

In cafes, somewhere, east of Wales.

Their pale, but decorated, husbands

(Old comrades waiting for their turns)

To trade old stories, and

War Secretes:

"Blitzkrieg! Blitzkrieg! London burns!"

The tabloids and the BBC,

Tell of jolly farmers in the dell,

The Pigeons of Trafalgar Square,

Though not handsome, serve their purpose well .

The A-45 has been renamed,

‘Though no one's really noticed yet.

Instead, they speak of raising taxes

In conversations with their pets .

The princess, today, while on holiday in France

Caused a scandalous roar enroute to a dance:

Her skirt caught a breeze,

(Now Europa agrees)

That the princess wears no underpants!

And just today, the I.R.A.

Announced it'd lost its will to kill.

Now, instead of painting roadside bombs,

They've taken up planting daffodils.

Meanwhile, Parliament's reconvened, to

Debate about Sir Albert Hall, on

Whether or not to tear it down, and

To replace it with a shopping mall .

Yet, not all of Britannia's so deeply aghast

There're still left a few who, quite simply, don't care.

Remaining clandestine, content and unruffled, they're

The Trafalgar pigeons of Trafalgar Square . . . . .

© 2008 - R. MARTIN BASSO