Walking along the river’s edge, I came across an old couple
One arm oustretched, holding aloft a perch for an African grey parrot.
“Her name is Cleopatra,” the grey-haired old lady informed me,
Proud of her feathered pet. “She does seem very regal,” I agreed.
Cleopatra ruffled her feathers and pecked at the leash around her foot.
She squawked and ring-necked parakeets, wild in the trees in West London,
Called back to their cousin haughtily.