Peter Bennet - Poem by PAUL COLVIN
A drunkard, Peter Bennett, he’s sixty five today,
This grey haired man, a local man, who’s still alive today.
We’re most surprised, cos he’s the loudest, man around this place
But he’s just left, our birthday boy, completely off his face!
He saunters in, and never waits, to instruct us of his presence,
His booming voice, a gruff old voice, is full of effervescence.
He’ll hang his coat, in wintertime, fumbling with his zipper
And then looks down, to his huge feet, he’s still got on his slippers!
He’ll then proceed, to tell us all, how hard he’d worked that day,
A painting job, a garden job, oh how the pensioners play!
He’ll wander round, the bar at first, “what company will I join”?
He’s so perturbed, at missing out, on stories we’re enjoying.
He’s got his pint, sits at the bar, his stories now unfold,
A happy man, a lovely man, who keeps us all enthralled
With telling tales, true or false, we’re drunk so we don’t care
This gentle giant, smiles away, blue stories fill the air.
He’s not the sort, to back away, when having a discussion,
If he’s right, if he’s wrong, he’ll carry on this mission.
The only time, that he’ll renege, is when mum makes a demand,
He knows his place, she’s the boss, he jumps at her command.
He’s all made up, just got a pass, a travel card for free
Just jumps a bus, that’s paid by us, the likes of you and me.
We’ve been known, to buy him drinks, a Scotch upon his birthday
But we don’t care, cos he’s our mate, we’d buy him drinks ‘til doomsday! ! !
He’ll call across, to all the pub, starts telling us his joke
The one he heard, an hour before, whilst drinking with this bloke.
He’s doubled up, with laughter now, we’re all a bit confused
He’s lost the plot, mixed up two jokes, but still we’ve been amused.
This old man, an OAP, was surely put on earth
To help along, the needy throng but maybe that’s a myth.
He’s down here, to ensure, our lives are much more grim
And I believe, he’s mastered that and that’s all down to him.
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