Grimbeau

He was known to live a life dissipated,
Gambolling in crazed buffonery
And drinking half a modest brewery,
Until his liver, bored, emigrated.
My Uncle Ted was steadfast and insistent
‘More booze!’ he yelled ‘Til I’m wild euphoric’
Half a pint of gin; no tonic: chronic.
Then, maculately homeward: distant.
Ten Afton and a quart of Barleycorn,
Strong tea and the two, too loud radios
Unwelcomed him the very next morning
As he dimly recalled Jack de Mannio,
Contemplated a shower; then yawning,
Went out in the garden and pissed on the lawn.

Rehoused, he trawled in his shotaway head
And dredged up from its slum, the aviator
Louis Blerio, who, a century and
One day ago now, flew lobster thermidore
Over the Channel for lunch in England.
Ted sipped a tuft of the dog, dejected.