Poem in two parts to commemorate the millenium

Millenium

Sometimes Oscandos seems anxious
That his stuff is (or is not) truly 'his'
And again when he heard a pigeon
Say variously 'where is she?' and 'help!'
At rhythmic intervals
I reassured him
Because it was too horrible to think
That the pigeon flew away
Without ever finding her

Then I told him about Vince
Who grabbed my shirt
And shouted 'how do you get inside?'
Like iambic pentameter
Crying, and dribbling, and again
'How do you get inside?'
Anyway the weather was turning
So we took our sticks and whistles
And bounced on the trampoline

Millenium II

Sometimes Oscandos is repetitive
To clarify endlessly the debate 'twixt aye and neigh
But more to obtain something called 'closure'
That good things happen and bad things not

I can recognise him on the horizon
Knowing one day our paths will interject
(But it is safer never to do so)
So more impersonal, the references

Like Timothy Leary, on his death bed
Groaning 'I was a good boy, wasn't I?'
And 'I did good didn't I?'
The blackshirt merges, with age, conversely, with the hippy

Like a cancerous growth
Dawned those inter-war years
So me, yesterday, went 'You still need me don't you?'
'Don't you?'
Say yes