Pen In Hand Poem by David Harris

I have tried to analyse myself
and why I do the things, I do.
When I was a kid I wanted to be a policeman,
though I had the height,
I wasn’t that smart,
so as that idea went out the window
and no new ideas came along,
I decided to become a nobody
for what else could I be.
I was no good at English,
nor any good at maths,
I couldn’t even roller skate
as I kept falling down.
Everything I tried to do
I failed miserably,
so why did I take up writing,
it doesn’t make sense at all.
English was my worst subject,
so why would I want to write
I can’t think of any reason for it.
Then came the advent of the Beatles
and everyone wanted to be in a group.
I couldn’t sing and I couldn’t play
an instrument of any sort,
but Paul and John wrote songs,
and Paul had the same birthday as me.
Could it have been an omen?
I co-oped a friend into writing a song
with the immortal words
that if they can do it, why can’t we.
He agreed and millionaires
we were both going to be.
He gave up after our second attempt,
but for some reason I carried on.
Now forty-five years later
I am still trying to figure it out why
I would want to take pen in hand.
I guess it is something
I’ll never understand.

20 September 2008