Peter Wyllie

Rookie (24th August 1948 / Grantham)

Eye Spy - Poem by Peter Wyllie

(This goes to show what stupid dreams I have!)

The other night I dreamt that I
Had been recruited as a spy.
I’m bald, unfit and overweight
As anyone can see, but wait
They said, “That doesn’t really matter,
These days we choose men who are fatter.
Although they cannot run as fast
When they get caught, they often last
Much longer when deprived of food;
Starvation diet does them good.
Fat men have got more in reserve.”
I thought, “You’ve got a bloody nerve! ”
At Spy School we all had a bed
Each with a safe beside our head.
Half didn’t lock, the doors swung free,
The rest were locked, but had no key!
Our trainer said it mattered not
They planned to, soon, replace the lot.
When asked, “How long? ” He then replied
“The government cannot decide;
It could be five years, maybe ten.
I expect that we might know by then.”
Next, I was taken to a room.
I glanced around; my eyes on ‘zoom’
To fix on details I had seen,
The faded roller blinds of green,
The threadbare carpet on the floor
And one long table. Through the door
Entered a man, his face all smiles,
And a woman with a box of files.
Then, shaking hands, “how do you do? ”
He said he was “shh, you know who! ”
The key advice he gave to me
Just very simply seemed to be:
“Account for every single dime”
And, “get expenses in on time.”
I tried to ask them more, but they
Just waved goodbye and turned away.
You’d like to know, and so would I,
What does it take to be a spy?
We’ll never know for, here’s the joke,
It was at this point I awoke.

© Peter Wyllie, December 2006.

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, August 7, 2010

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