Sid the Parrot had one wish
He wished to be a footballer
And he could to, if only he
Were a good six foot taller.
But alas for Sid, from claw to beak
He was hardly worth the mentioning
He hadn’t much of which to speak
And even less for measuring.
But he knew oneday, given ‘ave a chance
he’d be up there with all the rest
Like Kevin Keegan, ole Daglish,
Jimmy Greaves, and Georgie Best!
And so he practised frantically;
Heading nuts at miner birds,
And smothering his mirror with kisses,
And squawking, four-letter words!
But for all his practice and keenness
And his letters to football clubs
No one would take him seriously
So he took off, round the pubs
Where he drank himself into a stupor
And showed off his many tricks
Liike punching peanuts down his beak
Followed by lager and coconut crisps!
Ah, but unbeknowst to our sad-filled Sid
His tricks were being recorded
By a talent scout, on the lookout for
FOOTBALLERS! (to be signed up and well rewarded).
And he signed up our Sid right there and then!
Even as he slid down to the floor
Saying “I really like your hand-y tricks
“You’re just what we’re looking for.”
Well, our Sid was over-the-moon
And said, as he turned yet-more-green
“It’s just what I’ve always dreamed of!”
Then was sick as a human being.
Now our Sid he is a footballer
And there’s none that is more keener
And tis a shame he can’t play for England
Cause he was signed up by Argentina.
©John Steele, 1996, 2008
This poem appeared in the summer ’89 edition of “Bentilee Voices” magazine (published by the Bentilee Volunteers).