While All Those Has-Beens Dance
A brass ring through the eye-lid
From which depends a bell
May not impede your vision,
Or damp your sense of smell
But, in the dim cold future,
'Twill sunder every suture
That a surgeon skilled may tie
Is not in question; yet we judge
Some would still it question,
To subvert the ancient grudge
Since mildew beat down bacon
When abject oaths were taken
And so, athwart the village-pump,
And twice around the green
With hint of all misprision
Unruly and obscene
The old saw-bones doth wend his way
Between the dawn and break-of-day
He goes off to The Cottage
Whence all but he have fled
Because of his ingestion
Despite his daily bread
Of half-forgotten produce,
For Up Yours Mates and Sod Yous
Do populate his speaking.
His gestures – nay, his life –
Is rampant indecision,
Despite his fearsome wife
Who keeps a tidy midships
He suffers many mischiefs
Contributors: | Apsley, Surlaw, (trad), shipp. |
Poem finished: | 24th July 2002. |