Crunchtime Brunchtime

by grimbeau

From Our Home Correspondent.

Cherooted to the spot,


by some tree made giant

by Oktober suns low chariot,

this crisp Oktober noontime hour

in frosted sharp clear air.


Gentlemen wash & change,

Do not shave till sundown,

The flavour of the day –

crude coarse heretical cripple.

And if it’s out its wrap up warm,

three thick layers, thick socks,

smart black gloves and torn bandana.

To go where, where to go?

Just out. That’s all. Just Out.


Come, task me a challenge,

throw down a gauntlet

& I’ll throw my old

straw hat in the ring,

& should I fail I’ll

eat the bugger up,

and if I don’t you will

The game’s afoot.