I am not talking about Philip Larkin the poet here:
Mister Larkin was also my dog, who only had one ear.
He looked real savage with blood dripping off his lips;
As he growled at me he said: “You’ve had your chips”,
And so, in terror, I ran like the wind,
And escaped from that dog with my life intact,
Happy to survive another day.

As the day grew on I started to think
Of how I’d escaped with so much ease,
But no answer came forth,
And so I sat all on my own,
Occasionally picking up the phone
To converse with the speaking clock.

My head felt like a room with a stubborn lock,
Allowing nothing out nor in;
Thoughts spinning round in a constant din;
And so, alone, there I sat,
Looking like a mouse but smelling like a cat.
Into the night I purred away,
Deep into my head I pondered the day,
And all the time the world kept moving,
And the sky around me turned from orange to black.
I was safe in my bed, but I felt under attack
As worries battered against my brain,
And confusion stabbed me into a state of pain.

In my dream that night, I walked down a road,
But someone shot me, causing my head to explode;
The sky had turned to fluorescent green
And nothing was what it previously did seem.
All the women had turned into goats,
And all the men into sheep with pink and yellow coats.
All the trees had been burned down,
And I was stranded alone in the middle of town.

This dream was so weird that it left me confused,
And I woke up the next day all battered and bruised.
I had obviously been punching myself in my sleep,
So I looked out the window and I saw a sheep:
A pink and yellow one! My dream was coming true.
I ran out the door, I did not know what to do.
Like a maniac I waved my arms and started screaming:
“Someone wake me up, I think I’m still dreaming.”
Unfortunately no one understood me:
They were all goats and sheep,
So I lay down on the path and started to weep.

After a minute, “Don’t worry”, I said to myself,
“At least I’m still human, with strength and health.
Nobody now could ever doubt that at all.”
I got up off the ground and sat myself on a wall,
Looking contentedly at my surroundings,
Watching the sheep and goats walking along;
I pulled out my guitar and burst into song.
There was just one song I sang over and again,
Called ‘Sheep and Goats are no Longer Women and Men
And I’m the Only Human Who Will Remain,
But I’ve Still Got my Guitar, so I Shan’t Complain’.


© 2000 Matt Everett