Oh, George!
As I sat on the crapper this morning
I recalled whenever Grandad said "crap"
my grandmother always said, "Oh, George!"
He wasn't a coarse profane man, so when
he used such a crudity, it shocked.
And there are worse "c" and "f" words--
I myself think the "f" word's used too effing
much. You won't find me deploying it much.
My grandparent's daughter wanted to marry a man
of the name of George. Then I came-- Oh, crap!
Mum wanted to name me for Grandad, but didn't
want me to be George George, so I got his middle
name, Thompson. People who married into Mum's
family, the Matchetts, were never quite good enough,
so poor Dad, a physical therapist, never measured up.
The Georges had the blood of jewellers and tidewaiters
(whatever a tidewaiter is), Norfolk publicans, too.
The Matchetts were, well, dock laborers, though
Grandpa's brother was a Liverpool comic. Even I could see
the Matchetts were not what they were crapped up to be.
Christopher T. George
