Poem – John O’Connor


purveyor of tall tales &
veteran of Gallipoli, the

Western Front. carpenter
& model maker, smoker

of ‘roll-yr-owns’, thin
as a rake, he grew

only asparagus for an anaemic
looking wife who loved the races

& left him & his wheezing
in the sun room complaining

bitterly in the middle of a
well worn yarn about a

corporal who’d ‘blew his guts
out’ on a grenade rather

than let it kill the recruits
he was instructing, when it fell.

above him a stuffed canary
Tommie, who ‘used to peck

yr fingers – sing all day.’


John O’Connor

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