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