They should never have stuffed my Grandad.
He didn’t deserve it, you see.
He served twenty years in the Navy,
though very near caused world war three.
He married my Gran in a lifeboat.
They bobbed up and down with the joy,
and joked that the first of their children
would probably come out a buoy.
They lived near the coast in a hovel,
complete with a cold lavatory
positioned half way up the garden,
surrounded by icicled pee.
He had quite a name with the ladies,
though not necessarily good.
He wasn’t exactly unfaithful,
but certainly would if he could.
At forty his hair was a memory.
His head was all shiny and red.
My Gran buffed it up every Sunday
With a duster and spray-able pledge.
He lost all his teeth around fifty.
He thought they would last him his life.
They might have done too if he hadn’t
been caught with the fish monger’s wife.
He measured his life by his friendships,
although it just has to be said,
if you counted the people who liked him
he’s probably better off dead.
They should never have stuffed my Grandad.
My Gran was upset, poor old dear.
She wished he’d been cut into fish bait
and lobbed off the end of the pier.
Moving-Poems.com 
Leave a reply to kelly Cancel reply