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You're at your best as a grumpy old man a close friend said to me

And while it's nice to be recognised, I would rather be

Remembered for my better side, assuming I have one,

Or the more refelctive verse on times that are long gone

But seemed to me worth pinning down, if only to recall

Those fleeting miracles of life which so quickly fall

Into the pit of memory, juggling in my mind

With all the daily trivia which gets left behind.

Yet for all the serious verses which I want to write

It seems the ruder pieces are the ones which see the light

And please for their acidity, their bile and lack of charm

Attacking Bexhill's OAPs, the pills that fail to calm,

The awfulness of Christmas, the daily lives which run

Away from us out of control, teenagers who shun

The niceties of language - ah but there I go again

And that's before we get to fast-food outlets or the rain

Which either comes in bucketfuls or refuses to arrive

So shrivelling our summer crop of lettuce and endive.

Pause there - you see there is no end to a grumpy old man's moan

So if I were you I'd push off now - while you can still get home.

Brian Hick January 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 18.1.24