a poephol among the dandelions

i've got one in me back garden 
he sits in the middle
of the dandelion bed
with a fishing rod

fuck knows why
the nearest pond's
three doors down at number seven

i call him dudley
and we used to have some really deep 
philosophical talks
did me and dudley

but all that changed
last wednesday

every morning at six a.m.
this bloody bird
perches its fat grey arse
on dudley's head
and coos and poops to its heart's
bloody content
the bastard

i think it's a
gnoming pigeon
but being thick i'm not sure
having never really dug archaeology

anywho
last wednesday
i thought dudley
could do with a spruce
seeing as his head were
thickly encrusted with guano
so i took a chisel to him

happens me mate zach arrived
and handed me a spliff

very nice too i ventured
as his chat became muffled
while i painstakingly listened
to the dandelion's rumblings for water 

the cabbage white's
slurping of the buddleia
as thoughts trundled
ever quietly
over the hills and far away
to a cotton candy comfort
of all things lovely

when all on a sudden
as if slapped in the face
with a large wet cod
found dudley
with a two inch void
in the top of his bonce
putting an end to our once
philosophical tête-à-têtes

cos his head's now
full of shit