Large Fierce Mammal

“The first time I read Lord of the Rings, I’m sure I was personally responsible for skyrocketing values of stocks for companies involved in the production of bacon, mushrooms, and dark, full bodied beers. I absolutely enjoy any literature that confronts me with a description of food consumed by the characters that leaves me wanting to devour whatever they’re having.” ~ The Sandwich With the Dragon Tattoo

Yesterday I had cause to quote a number of sentiments spoken by Public Safety Minister Bill Blair, and since then one point has particularly rankled to where I knew something had to be physically and decisively done about it.

The offending utterance, with emphasis added, was, “We’ve heard many people express concern about the militarization of our police, and this is a direct consequence of the militarization of our society.”

Since then, I’ve had a poem I wrote and published here back in January of 2018 running on an endless loop in my head, and I don’t know if you already know this, but unlike a song stuck in your head that can be easily expunged by actually playing it, poems are a different breed, and requiring of more drastic measures. So for brunch today, and at my request, Mrs. LFM indulged me with fried “bully beef” accompanied by hard boiled eggs, the back story for which was that we’d stolen them from some hapless French farmer’s hen house while out overnight on a listenin’ patrol. She even stood by and kept a straight face while I stabbed the can with a dagger before she opened it to see if it outgassed so we’d be sure it hadn’t gone off.

Thanks to her I’m good now, and here is that damned poem I told you about.

More Mud Than Glory

By LFM

Late O-seventeen
Was a big freeze and blow,
That turned dirt into concrete,
With bugger all snow.

With twenty-eighteen
Came a warm spell and rains
That tore a small thaw as
It choked all the drains.

By the time the rain stopped
All the earth was laid bare,
Slicked over with mud
Under warm humid air.

While some folks complained
How the water and mud
Turned their yards into lakes
And their basements to flood.

Stiff drinks in our hands
We looked out from our lair,
And instead of mud ugly
Saw ambience there.

So we bought some provisions,
And invites were sent
To twelve hearty guests
For our “war themed” event.

Then we buried some mines
And we dug a latrine.
We added some trenches
With barbed wire between.

Had six vet’ran soldiers
For three hours, non-stop
Firing live ammunition
Straight over the top.

We served bully beef
Eaten straight from the can,
And “rat-au-van” — rat
That’s been killed by a van.

The doneness of bacon
Was never in doubt.
It was cooked with a candle
That kept blowing out.

The tea that we served
Flavoured water abused,
Delivered in petrol cans,
Most of them used.

When armistice came
To our trench of delight,
We called for some cocktails
To round out the night.

Brought up to “the front”
By the Rum Ration bloke
Was a jug of rough trade,
And we all took a choke.

Then our guests were demobbed
And drove home on a lorry
That bore on its sides
The words, “More Mud Than Glory”.