David Lewis Paget

Gold Star - 8,586 Points (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

The Antiquarian - Poem by David Lewis Paget

No-one had heard of Lennox Dred
‘Til he rumbled into town,
Bringing a cold sou'wester as
The rain came bucketing down,
He halted outside the Newtown Inn
In his Plymouth Belvedere,
Held together with rust and mud
As the paint had disappeared.

He stepped on out of the Belvedere
In his braces, spats and boots,
A silk cravat was around his neck
And a red topcoat to suit,
He wandered in to the concierge
And he said, ‘Now here, my man,
What is the month and the year round here
I'm an Antiquarian! '

The concierge said, ‘February
Of 2026,
I'm sure it's the same most everywhere
Or the earth has blown to bits! '
‘Not yet, I trust, but here's my card, '
And he read there ‘Lennox Dred,
Collecting any memorabilia
For the time ahead.'

Then Lennox scratched his head and muttered
‘Just February, eh?
I thought I'd timed my visit during
The first of March, today.
Well, can't be helped, I'll need a room
For a day or two at least,
With a toilet and a wash-stand, make it
A window, looking East.'

Later Lennox walked the streets
And he looked in every shop,
Picked up the most fantastic things
Like an ashtray and a mop,
He walked into a Menswear, wanted
A raincoat lined with lead,
With one of those lead-lined hoods attached,
Zipped up to cover your head.'

The rain was steadily pelting down
But he didn't mind a jot,
‘So very clean and refreshing
Whether you've washed yourself or not.'
But people pointed in the street
And they laughed to see the sight,
Of the little Antiquarian,
Though he smiled at their delight.

The following day he walked around
From morning until dark,
Snapping a thousand pictures of
The townsfolk and the park,
When asked, he said, ‘There's a craze you know
For pictures from the past,
And anything people used back then
Before it's gone, at last.'

He dumped his stuff in the Belvedere,
Took one last look around,
‘A pity this'll be gone next month,
It's a tidy little town, '
He shook his head at the passing girls
Who he knew would soon be dead,
When the bomb went off in his future's past,
‘Or my name's not Lennox Dred! '

10 February 2013


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, February 10, 2013



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