Under The Cork-Tree

Whenever I could I went lo bull-fights, wrestling
or boxing matches & enjoyed nothing better
than bloodily mixing it with bovver boys
at soccer battles.

My great-great grandfather was stuck
(according to grandma) like a prime fat pig
at Agincourt.
My whole family has proudly carried
(they say) pikes, halberds, shillelaghs & various
steel or iron bludgeons at every (you name it)
confrontation.

But now ( black sheep bitterly disgracing
the clan. - exchanging birthright for pottage I’ve
torn my card & sit friendless -. sniffing & planning
a kind of pastoral Nirvana:^† an erewhon of flowers
& suchlike - of the sort the idiot bull^‡ Ferdinand
under his cork-tree looked for.

^† The extinction of desire & passion. But perhaps
Cockaigne would be better. ‘An imaginary country,
the abode of luxury & idleness.’

^‡ A simpleton. Incapable of ordinary reasoning.
One who refuses to take orders.