TO BONZO
(Another golf
poem - and, as I have already said, playing golf is just like
living life......)
A dog who understands 'Oh Fuck!'
Then goes into the trees and retrieves your ball,
Is worth a thousand dogs that muck
About, and talk out loud when you're on the tee,
Then wag their tails, idiosyncratically
Whilst you, in apoplectic rage,
Retrieve your ball from a muddy storm drain,
Concede the match, curse your luck,
And vow not to play the ruddy game again.A dog who knows your every mood,
And marks the bush that conceals your errant drive,
Is better than a dog who'll brood,
Forever, because you blame your faults on him,
Fails to understand your all too human whim,
Of blaming others when things go wrong,
Who knows you're only human, not a dog,
And so you are no ruddy good,
At playing golf;
And even worse, at playing God!
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