The Plumlee Mr. Bruce

A group of thirty, nine and ten-year-old eager lads Filed out of the peeling pearly white bus Muscle-bound counselors herding them into line Distributing the equipment for the day's recreational outing. But funds were short so some poor boys were Disadvantaged at the start Unable to join the fun The Plumlee Mr. Bruce was one Tall, lanky greasy-haired goof Cried with apprehension: 'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! ' We sat on the bank, he and I both lost Both pitifully deprived And watched while others reeled in the catch Laughing and whistling and hooting it up! But The Bruce was miffed as miffed could be Cried out again in disbelief: 'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! ' I, dejected, resigned myself to my bitter lot The hot sun scorching my miserable bones Bored, I picked the grass and cursed my fate But The Plumlee Mr. Bruce would not allow injustice to prevail Stomping and screaming at the top of his lungs: 'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! ' I rolled over, went to sleep and heard no more 'Till the bus revved up again And waking saw The Bruce with pole in hand A three-foot Muskie on the hook A smile as big as Cleveland It was too late for me but nonetheless I think I learned my lesson And striding towards the counselor's hefty back Tapped him on the shoulder and shrieked: 'Hey! I ain't got no fishin' rod! ' (Previously published in Kookamonga Square, Feb 2003)