The Parrot of My Brother's

The parrot of my brother's
Is unlike any others—
Yes, it's unlike any others I have seen.
Are you sayin' you don't git me?
Well then, if you will permit me
I'll explain to you exactly what I mean.

As a gift, his daughters brought it;
But they knew not when they bought it
If its gender was a Matthew or a Meg;
So through methods arbitraire,
They christened it "Pierre"—
Though they'll change that if he ever lays an egg.

There are only three short phrases
That it knowses and it sayses,
Including "Peek-a-boo" and "Whatcha doin'?"
And 'spite efforts Herculean—
From Swahili to Korean—
It flatly has refused to learn a new one.

Oh, this parrot of my brother's
Is unlike any others,
Yes, it's unlike any others I have heard;
At disassembling, it excels—
Removes the clappers from its bells—
A busy, yet destructive, little bird.

He encourages his parrot
With a walnut or a carrot
Whenever it is good and speaks up clearly.
But when you're not adoring it
And it thinks you are ignoring it,
Believe me, you'll be paying for it dearly!

Cuz this Polly ain't no yakker
And he doesn't want a cracker;
No, it has the most amazing sense of smell:
If you're in the kitchen cooking,
Without its even looking,
Whatever you are making, it can tell.

Then—forget about its talking—
It launches into squawking
At a volume that is best described as "high";
And it keeps on with this racket
Till you offer it the snack it
Is just sure that you were fixing on the sly.

Yes, that parrot of my brother's
Is unlike any others—
In a class (it might be stated) of its own;
Though in this I may transgress,
For I really must confess…
That HIS parrot is the only one I've known!

                                   —Anon A. Mouse

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