Raymond Miller- A Poem

Jealousy

After the last boom and bust crisis

we decided to pull in our belts

and dispense with life coaches,

financial advisers, crystal

healers, personal bodyguards,

spiritual guides and gurus

and take responsibility

for the children and pets ourselves.

She watered and fed the kiddies,

combed their hair into a parting,

read them bedtime stories and

scooped them up when they fell.

I watered and fed the animals,

kept apart antagonists,

undertook respectful burial

and composed an epitaph. 

Whilst on a cheap vacation

we crept upon a rabbit

who neither ran nor hopped away

as I stooped to pick him up.

His weeping eyes were swollen,

the fur was fairly crawling;

she said it’s myxomatosis

and I threw him to the ground.

She argued for swift dismissal

to alleviate his misery;

I preached non-interference,

let nature take its course.

She said she’d do the job herself -  

I was jealous of my territory

and beat him with a cricket bat,

the end was slow and bloody.

Later on that holiday

we met a wildlife expert

who told us myxomatosis

isn’t inevitably fatal.

Some develop immunity

and recover former vigour:

now when the family play cricket

I can only field or bowl.