Marvellous!

I may be a spider-bitten, better drawn character

In a different-hour, other-hero world

Who’ll leave his loved one’s near- seduction-moment chamber

To ensure the dastardly scheme’s never fully unfurled.

 

But, when I’m holding this brass-padlock key

I’m on the allotment; it’s time for me

For once in life I keep up with the plot

Please give me one chance to enjoy this lot.

 

I may be a social-miracle worker,

The patience of Job, all hours of the clock

Have the spark energy and thick skin of elite berserker

Be someone capable of shrugging off shock.

 

But be aware that inside these gates

I’ve paid my annual have-privacy fee

I don’t need to know what’s on your slates

For while I’m holding the line I’m free.

 

Yesterday,perhaps I had the strength of Samson,

The tricks of Merlin, the grace of a leopard

Tomorrow maybe I’ll have the skills of Shakespeare

The attitude of a Pele, be a cool, monetary wizard.

 

But, right now, wearing these wrecked-knee jeans

And completely understanding what’s going on with the plot

You need to understand what the Yoda phrase means:

Disturbed, do I want to be ? Not!

Remembrance

Parts of this allotment shed: the frame, the roof trusses, the oil-saturated railway sleepers that it sits on, if they could talk:

… they would recall the young miner who grew food for his hard working family and neighbours in the years of the Great War. The war, they said that would end all wars. The miner, and his pals who kept producing the coal that kept the factories going, with women taking up the tools, that fed the effort that changed the world. The miner whose brother, giddy to fight the common enemy, so full of life he lied about his age when he joined up, left … left but did not return.

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