W Poem - Himself and Mabel

Over dinner, I was treated to a long refrain
From the man from Galway, in the South of Spain.
"I always wanted to meet a circus man !"
Said he, "and now I have !" he added with glee.

A has been trapeze Artiste, a he,
Bronzed, wrinkled and spindly, as you might expect
And his former agility, not hard to detect,
Living slowly in a small white house
With an English lady, quiet as a mouse.

They invited him over for sole from Dover
He came with a bottle of wine
"Exquisite !" said the Artiste, as they sat down to dine.

Pleased was my friend that he had swopped the label
On the cheap local wine purchased by Mabel

As she nudged his leg under the table
He winked to acknowledge their scam
While continuing to nibble his parma ham.

As the Artiste told of clowns and other circus lore
My friend insisted that Galway had more.

When at last he left with his tippled Mabel
Their visit became a noted fable
As the Artiste told how, when he ceased to roam
A circus came to his very own home

MWC
October 2001
Nerja