Bye Bye Black Sheep

Volunteering at seventeen, Uncle Joe

Went to Dunkirk as a Royal Marine

And lived, not to tell the tale.

Demobbed, he brought back a broken 303,

A quiver of bayonets, and a kitbag

Of badges, bullets and swastikas

Which he doled out among warstruck nephews.

With gasflame-blue eyes and dark unruly hair

He could have been God’s gift. Gone anywhere.

But a lifetime’s excitement had been used up

On his one-and-only trip abroad. Instead,

Did the pools and horses. ‘Lash me, I’m bored,’

He’d moan, and use language when Gran

Was out of the room. He was our hero.

But not for long. Apparently he was

No good. Couldn’t hold down a job.

Gave the old buck to his Elders and Betters.

Lazy as sin, he turned to drink

And ended up marrying a Protestant.

A regular black sheep was Uncle Joe.

Funny how wrong kids can be.