When he was 23, his father failed
to bribe him not to play trombone before
the rugby. At full time the English trailed
6-33, an all-time record score,
his role in which he wouldn’t want forgotten.
He’s since taught English as a foreign language,
written some verse – not all of which is rotten –
and sung it too. Some said he was one sandwich
short of a picnic. Pushing 55,
he’s lost for words more often than he’d like,
but very happy that he’s still alive
and still can walk and run and ride a bike.
He’s confident that, given time, he may
attain a state of permanent decay.
Duncan Gillies MacLaurin
If you have any comments on this poem, Duncan
Gillies MacLaurin would be pleased to hear from you.