Village Idiot

A poem about somebody we all know.

Ours had one too and some

Called him blessed. See him

 

Still greeting young and sundry, gawp-cheerful

From the Bath’s marble steps, his own place,

 

Still lolling towel-necked and touseled

Jawing “Hi-halloos” to “Hey Boofhead!”

 

Polling us with wet teeth, vivid eyes

From block pedals as we pass.

 

God, he must be forty now!

Whatever his grasp

 

The pool’s too deep.

Our waves roll over his head.