Uncle Edward
We’re not allowed to mention Uncle Edward
Nor “farmyard assignations” (quote, unquote)
In our family tree, our uncle’s dead wood,
Since Aunt Matilda caught him with that goat.
It would be a fantastic anecdote
(Sodomy with any quadruped would)
But the tale remains unspoken in my throat
‘Cos we can’t even mention Uncle Edward.
(He got a burly Hebridean builder,
with expertise in slating and emulsion,
to do up a small cottage in St. Kilda,
far from those who frown on his compulsion.
Aunt Matilda welcomed the expulsion –
the smirking of the neighbours would have killed ‘er.
Oh stranger, you might well express revulsion
but then, you haven’t met our Aunt Matilda.)
Peter Goulding rails at life in poetic form from the comfort of his suburban Dublin armchair. He has won the Strokestown Humorous Verse competition twice and been crowned Baffle Bard twice. His serious poetry has been published in four continents by editors who make him promise to go away. He has just completed his first novel and plans to read another one very soon. His wife wishes he would spend a little less time writing and a bit more time learning how to put up a shelf.