My Uncle's Armour
Everyone has a story....
My Uncle John had a certain wayOf facing life’s ups and downsHe’d raise his voice, push out his chest,And greet each day with a frown. He didn't mind a drink or three,In truth he loved his boozeAnd once he reached a certain stateHe felt he couldn't lose. He carried on his shouldersA chip as big as a log.He rarely laughed, or even smiled,And snarled like a junkyard dog. We were chatting and I asked one day,Why he liked to pick a fight.He paused, reflected, rolled a smoke,Searched his pockets for a light. Said, ” Well son, life’s full of shitAnd I’ll tell you this for freeI’d rather be pissing someone offThan have them pissing on me.” This was his armour, his protection“Shoot first, ask questions later.They’re out to get you, so strike first,Be a bloody alligator!” Yet when he thought no-one could seeHe had a soft spot inside,He spoke to his dog with a gentle voiceAnd his furry mate stuck by his side. He cared for his Mum in her frailer yearsHe nurtured her like a childAlways patient, gentle, kindly,And his temper with her, never wild. His trusty old dog adored himAs did Mum, his boyhood shield,And he repaid them in daily devotionsTo them his true heart he revealed. So I knew he had a kindnessShared with a sparse, precious fewHis sense of security only sureIn the presence of these trusted two. What a damaged old man was my uncleWhat a mixture of bluster and bully.Yet inside was a small, wounded childOnly his dog and his Mum knew fully. The moral of this short story is -Beware assuming the worstSome books have a battered coverYet hold pages of tender verse.