Uncle John

My Uncle John was a woebegone

In the all out way of things,

Wherever he went, no sun had shone

And we all were ding-a-lings.

He had no time for the hoi poloi

Or women who rant and tweet,

He’d pick on their saddest attributes

When he said they had ugly feet.

But those that he hated most were men

With money, and stick-out ears,

He said they could overhear him when

He whispered to privateers.

When I was a boy, I looked for joy

But he only gave me grief,

He’d say a bloke with a silly joke

Was simply a petty thief.

He’d never praise original thought

He’d say that it sounded dumb,

His wife Elaine said he’d still complain

As long as he sat on his bum.

She once cooked him a glorious meal

He muttered, and spat it out,

So Aunt Elaine said, ‘it’s such a shame,

I thought it might give him gout.’

I have to tell it was just as well,

He came to a terrible end,

He fell right back with a heart attack

When somebody called him ‘friend.’

We planted a bed of chrysanthemums

On his plot in the cemetery,

It gives him something to b***h about

When the cats go there to pee.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[T.S. Sky]

Laughing out loud at the ending. Some people like to be negative and you capture that perfectly in this poem.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Loved the ending,

Great story David

[Coyote Poetry]

A perfect ending to the wonderful poem. You made Uncle John come alive and I could feel his attitude. Some people are just born pissed-off. Thank you David for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote