Integrity (1)

 

Integrity (1)

 

A most remarkable march, that,

where your Master would have had a fit

on the grinder, if he’d pinged it –

you can hear his screams now

painting a pretty picture in spit

like why did we enlist yer, yer git?

or what's the village doing for an idiot

while you're away?

Something along those lines at any rate -

his swinging arms are a state,

nowhere near the requisite ninety

and he’s cue-balled his fists

until his knuckles are lily white -

but where’s the fight

he’s expecting? He’s drawn the crowds,

they’re chanting something loud

and he’s going for the full fifteen rounds

in his head, better off dead,

better off far away from here.

Father? Yes dear?

Now, there’s something queer,

he’s trailing boy behind him, his son

who, to keep pace, has to run,

looking aloft at his blustery white beard.

A timely reminder, if one were required

that every match sparks fire,

and every pitbull sports an inner golden labrador.

I wondered about the score,

not that there’s any love lost

and I chuckled when he was torn apart by the boss –

looking for a dignified exit,

there’s an entire parade ground out of step

and the system lacks integrity,

yet I thought they both made for a pretty

picture and felt ashamed.

Somebody loves him - makes a difference,

and the sun should continue to climb

long after we forget who he is and time

erases a collective memory -

and though he was my enemy

I went there and slapped in for clemency.