Twenty years ago, a troupe of peacocks resided in the Museum Gardens in the centre of York. Shoppers got used to shooing them home to the gardens. One was spotted riding the open-top bus. This one lived about half a mile from the main flock, on the roof of a cinema.

STREET PEACOCK

Like any scruffy teenager,
When first they start to roam,
The peacock on the pavement
Half a mile from home;

A ragged autumn morning:
Parked cars and slimy street;
Suddenly, this emperor’s envoy
Precedes us, on dainty feet.

Turn aside to the little churchyard,
Where trees salute the cold.
Here, for your honour’s pleasure,
The ground is spread with gold.