The Pugilist
S
Sheena Blackhall
0
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The pugilist is thick as a stick
Of fairground rock
Too many times he's been knocked
Into a cocked hat
He's dished out plenty of gob stoppers
On the way
Lickety-spit, he's turned teeth into sherbet
But he's taken too many bulls eyes
To the head.
Now his brain is a rattle bag of blue smarties
His nose is pug-shaped,
Smooth as a Toby jug
His hollow legs are full
Of the cup that cheers and deadens
His veins are strings of jingle bells
Ready to pop like bubble-gum
A heart attack waiting to happen
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