On Cheetham Hill

Cheetham Hill


He shoots the songbirds in his back garden

Silencing the sky larks

Nightingales on the menu

Rough plucked

Gutted and garnished in garlic

He licks his lips and tightens his tummy tucks and begins


Starting with the head

A kiss for each beak

Then he sucks the brains out

The scorched eyes soon follow

Like a semi colon or matted mascara


Peeling the breast

He forks the tiny morsel and swallows

All gone

In one

No drumsticks or waif like wings

Put you ear to his stomach and you’ll hear them sing

Feint goodbye lullabies from the inside


Like a tearful daughter sat in the back of a steamed up car

Begging her dad not to make her do this anymore




One thought on “On Cheetham Hill

  1. Mike: this is powerful and extraordinary stuff – it will stay with me for a long time. Spot-on with the imagery and a really disturbing poem (and I mean that in a good way).

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