Being Me

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Being me

I like being me,
Cos I'm bonkers you see.
Don't need to act serious,
Sage or imperious,
Can say what I like
(Except to my wife),
With Dauphy converse,
More often in verse,
Wear my greying hair long,
Or burst into song
About rabbits and chillies
Or cats with big willies.
Arrogant men
Feel the wrath of my pen,
As do women who use
Their beauty for news.
But I do what I like,
Catch fish on my bike,
Eat porridge for supper
And moan about upper
Classes that use us,
Cheat and abuse us,
Think they know better
Than my Irish Setter
Who loves who I am,
Not the King of Siam,
Just Hobbo the poet,
And he don't even know it.
So for my epilogue,
'This man loved his dog'
Is all that I ask,
(And perhaps a hip flask).

22 Comments on “Being Me

  1. Fair enough, too! Here lies Hobbo who loved his dog and caught fish on a bike”. I am impressed with the fishing technique. Do you whistle and they fly up? Or are you fully submersed and catch them in your teeth while still peddling? Seriously though πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘ for this charming poem of contentment. It’s an enviable thing.

    Liked by 1 person

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