by Richard Hanrahan

(Richard has a character he does called Simon Watt. Which is fine, but makes explaining whose poem this is very confusing.)

There’s a bluebird in my wardrobe

but he wants to get out

if I leave him

to shit

he’ll shit all about

the place


So I don’t keep him in there, all the time.

Somedays he comes out into the lounge

and does a shit there

Somedays he comes out into the kitchen

he does a shit there

Somedays, he comes out, well I open the door

but he doesn’t come out.

He just sort of looks at me.

There’s a bluebird in my wardrobe

and he watches me eat sweets

I like chewing on some strawberry laces

which don’t work for shoes

but I’d like some strawberry shoes.

And he watches me

like a tit.

But he’s a bluebird, not a blue tit.

I can’t take him for walks like a dog

cos he’d fly away, and I’d be sad.

I tried to put a leash on him, but he’s too small for it (it’s a dog leash)

But if he flew away

I’d be sad

and he’d be sad,

because he wouldn’t be able to talk

to me


He’s called Lionel.

And he’s got big feet.

And a blue head.

That’s why he’s called a bluebird.

(Poem ends.)