Trombones

When we straighten out the kinks
give up the high jinks and the japes,
the capers that we catered to
who do we become?

Stiff collared stuffed shirts or
ladies in their bolstered skirts?

peasants as pleasant as they may be
are not the people I want for me.

I like the middle of the road brigade
The marmite, toast and marmalade
set on the table ready laid brigade

actually
I just like brigades
the words sounds so military
full of shot and shell and blood and
guts,
the dead don’t go to hell
they join
a brigade

brigade, brigade, brigade, brigade
the call I hear must be obeyed

my kinks are just as kinky now
don’t know how and do not care
the table’s laid in time for
one more and one
brigade.

© 2016, John Smallshaw.