The Pheasant

by G.E. Simons

The twinned trees hung garlands like a King's hiding

Eras swath bathes of call boxes in red, trimmed with lead

There was meat and milk in the trunk of the village car

Driven by the chairman of the Assembly in officialdom

Before Aquarius met Sagittarius in the far corner of the Estate  


The peach tree wall snarled its liberty caps like lions

Above the draughtsman's chair before psychedelic maps

And throttle throats beat through the accordion of wings

Before the Administration changed, as dayglow splashed bowler hats

Then the widget walk across London Bridge towards the Foreign Office


The black and the white bloomed technicolour, a Disneyland in Antarctica

As news wires suggested that grass may grow over Manhattan

But black dog eyes emerged from the simplicity of dazzle ships

Times they were a blazing, the Pheasant met God in Piccadilly meadows

Before morphing by pure chance, sharing masks in the shadows