Lady and the Tramp

From the depths of his bulky greatcoat
he fished out his silver watch.
This time, the sparkle in his wrinkled eyes
owed nothing to fast-downed Scotch

so much as hailing from some inner pride
he'd never shown me before
 I set down bags of shopping
sat beside him on the floor.

"Tell me Thomas; won't you tell
all your stories of the war
but remember, I'm a lady
 too sensitive for gore.

I'd much rather hear of exploits:
chickens plucked from foreign coops,
postcard pictures of starlets
who'd entertained the troops.

long-lost parcels turning up
or maybe a Dear John letter
Leg-lost or love-lost? I know both are poor
but I feel the latter's better."

Not for the first time, this old hobo
gave a hearty, loud guffaw
"You're a lady and a tonic
a sweet hearted gal
you're an angel too, I'm sure!"

I stayed an hour or so and listened
enrapt by his colourful tales
As he talked, the old man seemed younger to me
and I smiled for my ploy never fails.


As usual, I took away more than I'd brought
-the sense that I still have my uses
I wish I'd done more before I grew old
but the young are adept with excuses.