Jim Poem by Jerry Behr Number 2

I have a mate my mate's name is Jim, sometimes he is fun.
For work Jim collects scrap metal with his truck on his metropolitan run.
He isn't a rough looking ocker, he doesn't look like a beer bellied trucker.
He is a skinny bloke, with a deep voice he looks like he hadn't had much tucker.

I met Jim at church he was in his mid forties at the time when he was dating Christine.
Christine was the love of his life, one could see in their eyes their love was pristine.
It didn't take long before the question was asked, Jim didn't like to be forever single.
The word got out the couple were to be engaged, you could see in them a zing and a tingle.

I went to their wedding and reception and I could see that the couple were dancing on the sky.
I congratulated them as they drove off on their honeymoon, their love now knitted into a close tie.
Sometime later Jim invited me to a footy game, Parramatta Eels were playing.
In all my life I've never been to a live game, always watching it on telly the bodies flaying.

Although I had binoculars to watch the game I was more focused on the cheer girls dancing.
I have to apologize because I hogged the binoculars watching the girls as they did their prancing.
Jim in his late forties was starting to get a bit worn from his scrap metal run.
He started to injure himself tearing metal pieces out of factories which isn't much fun.

I would like to encourage Jim as he continues in life making on the board the runs that come.
He has now scored 50 flamin runs on the board, which might have stunned some.
And now we toast to Jim on his fiftieth birthday and more flamin runs to make.
Happy birthday Jim, your next big score is a century, your old age is at stake.