Pop (Harold Lee)
in the Army, c. 1940; & in the RAF c. 1944
ghost rides
hear
the mail train bound for Holyhead
drum
its fingers through the chilly night
riding
waves of field & woodland lanes
late
as you like
dash
of clammy aspirations hot
water
bottle smell of paraffin
heater
musty bed in summer house
playgirl
in tights
sleeplessness
describes so many nights
countless
trains of thought I never quite
boarded
drifting in & out of mind
cut
to the chase
living
in the past I make it new
bring
my brother back & see us through
no
mistakes for once we put things right
riding
our bikes
now
I sleep the sleep of kids wake up
old
enough to be our granddad’s age
long
before the pair of us were born
late
as you like
my
first Scot
take
it out of here Pal he said
pointing
at his nose as if I would
Borstal
taught he mopped the floor with me
stowed
away to Aussie land he claimed
leaping
from the plane across the run
way
which even I did not believe
still
I learned a thing or two from him
never
criticise a fellow's speech
how
to lose a pound when not to preach
till
that time the Scottish people had
all
appeared to me stereotypes
broke
the mould is what I mean to say
ought
to send your ma a bob or two
home
I’d never manage that did he
something
in my nose said not to ask
lucky
for us
Pop
was colour blind which saved his life
otherwise
in bombers he’d have flown
missions
over Germany and France
having
missed Dunkirk he’d walked to La
Boule
to get evacuated once
volunteering
twice was tempting fate
after
spotting he’d a gammy leg
not
too great an issue for the Raf
showed
some pictures that had made him laugh
just
a mess of colours Sir what's there
can’t
you see that tree blowed if I can
officer
said you’re having me on
realised
what’s up & got cold feet
waste
of time your job in civvie street
waiter
Sir all right you’re out who’s next
kiss
like his ass
whooping
for cough the president’s off
on
his rant again who knows what’s next
don’t
you love him madly he’s so cute
tells
like the truth
anarchy
rules it’s the US way
supersize
a slice of apple pie
kick
your shoes off
stink
the place out no one really cares
European
airs don’t cut it here
matey
limey frog you with 2 heads
take
the back stairs
know
what's really cool in the White House
scratching
ass where other presidents
played
the fool to foreign delegates
this
guy’s no stool
hell
of course there’ll be a second term
book
the Ritz & sell the coupons on
tell
you what to up the odds again
let
out he’s dead
letters
of marque
should I say for every Elgin ten
Byrons
paced the decks of British ships
coveting
the loot of warring states
privates
from Penzance to John o'Groats
sailed
the azure main in George's name
dragon
killing though their grail was French
humans
as illegal cargo they'd
run
aloft then straight along the plank
who
would know what had become of them
colour
made no difference for black
yellow
brown or white alike as shark
bait
their bodies were convenient
Britons
never could be slaves it seems
cruel
to those who didn’t have to fight
Johnny
French to rule the Seven Seas
 |
no
blink!
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