I met a chap just the other day at the garden centre where I was fondling a sapling whilst at the same time shedding a tear for a wilting bonsai. With so many people about I had, of course, kept my kit on. Any way the chap I met worked there I think. He said his name was Casper and he was ever so tall with blond flowing Nordic locks and a most handsome face. We smiled at one another yet as I stood up from my bodily caressing of the precious baby tree and reached up to run my fingers through my somewhat matted hair I noticed a change in Casper’s expression as he spotted the forest of hair about my armpits. In point of fact his lips curled in horror and he turned his gaze to the floor. After that he made mumbled excuses and went about his way at a good pace.
Such is my luck – had it not been such a very hot day I would have worn my trademark woolly jumper over my sleeveless vest and things might have turned out so very differently for Casper and me. Woe is me once more.
Anyway, here is my new poem. It may be my last.
THEY EVEN TRASHED MY BIKE
I’ve hugged trees in Sherwood Forest
I’ve hugged trees in Richmond Park
I’ve hugged trees in the twilight
I’ve hugged trees under moonlight in the dark
From mighty oaks to weeping willows
I think I’ve hugged the lot
I’ve hugged them in the coldest times
And in summer when it’s hot
Yet soon I feel that tree hugging
Will cease to be my quest
You see I’m going to top myself
For I think that’s for the best
Because nobody doth like me
I am so very alone
There’s not a single name in my contacts list
For my mobile phone
I’ve had a dozen lovers
Yet they all told me the same thing
‘You’re a fucking boring tree hugger
And in all truth you do ming’
My pets have all died horrible deaths
Under buses or by lightning strike
My house was torched by activists
And they even trashed my bike
So I think I’ll go and OD
On cornflakes and green tea
Perhaps a pinch of cinnamon
Without fuss, the death of me
So my 54th attempt at leaving this mortal coil behind is upon me. I shan’t of course OD on cornflakes and green tea as that was just a silly billy idea I put in my poem to let my readers know what a dry wit I am. No this time I’ve decided to try a blend of real ale, bran flakes and laxatives. I may suffer the indignity of dying of dehydration upon the lavatory pan yet it would have been worth the effort. However before I take the plunge through death’s door there’s a nice little cherry tree in a garden up the road that is simply gagging for a hug.