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  
to a bloody, sticky pulp.  
 
Later on that holiday  
we met a wildlife expert  
who told us myxomatosis  
isn’t always fatal.  
Some develop immunity  
and recover former vigour:  
now when the family play cricket  
I can only field or bowl.
 
Raymond Miller

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Raymond Miller  would be pleased to hear them.