Mr Ooga Booga

Beyond the tangled vines

of my morning window,

the street coughs into life.

The old colonel next door

begins his daily play,

haranguing passers-by.

Good day, he bellows,

peace be upon you,

before all propriety dissolves.

He curses passing trucks,

the delivery boy,

my downstairs neighbour.

His throat is a rattling exhaust pipe,

betraying the cantankerous

machinery within.

And I, who know nothing of war,

cannot find anything

to redeem him.