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Peter Jeffrey: Two Poems

Peter Jeffrey

May 01 2015

2 mins

Kranky

 

If you can’t be

An old goat when you’re old;

When can you be?

Archaic in address,

Eccentric, you allow

Yourself, antique

Or inappropriate

Styles of dress.

Write disgusted comments

On and letters to,

Tabloids, magazines,

Curse, bitterly, and frequently,

Inanimate machines.

The universe against us

Tangles hoses, ropes, and cables,

Makes paintings fall from walls

And pens to roll off tables.

Entropy wins;

You lose your keys & glasses,

Things move from where you put them,

And, friends aside,

The world is full of asses.

Young women, if they notice you,

Take compliments as passes;

What would once have passed as romances

Would now play out as farces.

 

Peter Jeffrey

 

Third Party Selfie

If you happened to meet him in ALDI,

You’d probably be unimpressed,

With his hair so white and his smile so tight,

And his Ralph Lauren Fair Isle vest.

He’ll talk about poems and past glories

And if you’re around him for long,

He’ll tell you some dubious stories

And he might even burst into song.

 

In his youth he was much better looking

And considered himself quite the rascal

But now he’s become old and cranky

He just sits and thinks, like Blaise Pascal.

His poems have been praised by Les Murray

And he likes to think he can paint.

He does everything in a hurry

And thinks he can sing, but he caint.

 

In his closet are racks full of glad rags

Bought in Op shops for just a few dollars

They’re old but they have the right name tags

From Saint James and Milan in their collars.

His three sons and two daughters are handsome;

Their mothers all think them hot stuff.

Their trajectories are zigzag and then some

But they seem to get by well enough.

 

He drinks claret and whisky and gin and champagne;

His old friends are treasured like gold.

He hopes that one day he’ll smoke seegars again

But not ’til he’s grown very old.

For some time his neurones have been tiring

But while the connections are strong

And a few last synapses still firing

Let’s bring an end to his song.

 

Peter Jeffrey

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