Graeme Hetherington: Touched on the Raw

Touched on the Raw
(George’s Bay, St Helens)

“That’s a flash hat mate, a bit

Too poncy for my taste,” he sneered

At my Czech felt, broad-brimmed high-crowned

Kobulka with a speckled tuft

Of feather sewn into the band

For extra élan, as I strolled

One weekend round the bay on what

Here passes for a promenade.

The rush of blood as colour would

Have gone well with my brown headpiece

As I slew “Oz”, unworthy of

“Oswald”, with a chilling riposte,

In thought at least, as on I went,

Too slow and cowardly then and there

To let fly with it face to face:

“If yours covering your ears permits

Hearing take my advice and add

A fringe of corks to stop the flies

Infecting you with even more

Envy they carry from our chip‑

On-shoulder convict past!” Thus flared,

This time safely, the murderous rage

I still feel as the much teased “ciss”

And “Little Lord Fauntleroy” of

Childhood, and wish I knew the lock

And key to keep it under, should

One day by chance courage prevail.

Graeme Hetherington