Gowk
By Simon Armitage
Published 31 July 2024
One day I had no soul and the next
I did, like a cuckoo’s egg, so
then I was lumped with this baby ego
hatching out of the heart’s nest,
always wanting the first prize,
hungry for kind words,
gorging on treats and rewards
till it sat there bloated with praise
the size and weight of a black-bellied bustard,
but still a cuckoo speaking its trash talk,
singing its two-note coo-cooing piss-take,
an insatiable overgrown overblown bastard.
I held out my hand and offered the dry bread of
honest love and it bit my head off.
