Mr Malcolm McPherson
Was a very strange looking person
Whom, it is has been remarked,
When faced with a stray hound
It was found
That it was ‘he’ that barked.
He walked with a strange gate
Even though it was heavy
And, probably, stolen;
He almost drowned one day
Trying to carry it
Across a river that was deep and swollen.
His outlook on life
Was to eat with a knife
Except for Wednesdays
When he didn’t eat at all;
And he only ate fish
From an edible dish
But, desisted to eat
If a bone he did meet
And he’d just eat the dish
(Which he’d always say was ‘delish!’).
Malcolm McPherson
Was such a peculiar person
That he wore socks ‘over’ his shoes
He thought socks were demeaning
And his shoes he protected
“They’ll never need cleaning!”
And no scuffs were thereby detected
But, socks he got through by the score.
He was laughed at by some
To which he acted dumb
And just wore brighter socks all the more –
And mismatched they were;
So the people did concur
That Malcolm was as mad as a latter day hatter
Or, for that matter,
A hare.
But, Malcolm, he took no notice of the people who’d stare
And just imagined them walking about in their underwear
At which he’d laugh and then he’d bellow:
“Hello, Mrs. Smith!”
(If it were she)
“I see you love the colour yellow!”
And she did blush
For the only things yellow that she wore
Was the sort of things
You kept hush hush
And yet, Malcolm McPherson
Seemed to know what people wore
Under their clothing
Which was another
Reason for people’s fear and loathing.
So, eventually, Malcolm McPherson
Left town with a bag
And little else upon his person
Apart from that gate
And a loaf he did blag
From the lady in the baker’s
Whose name it was Kate.
And she passed him the loaf,
And he said “Thanks, dear;
Is it so hot in the bakers
That you’ve no underwear?”
She also blushed
And stammered “Goodbye.”
Then went home feeling dizzy
And the need for to cry.
But, Malcolm just smiled
And went on his way
Now imagining the people
Au naturel, as they say.
And never again was seen Malcolm’s face
In the town where he’d lived in a sort of disgrace;
And the people forgot him
And buried his name
But, when he had left
The town was never the same:
It became all lacklustre
And placid and faint
Without the one character who just wasn’t a saint.
The town faded away
In a year and a day
And where it once was
No one can say.
Graeme Sandford 