When someone asks you about a possession, for example your coat, and how you got it you have two choices.
Sometimes you want to tell him or her about it. The way you like the shape and colour and pockets.
And sometimes you want to sit down and write a poem to the beat of ‘The Irish Rover’ at two in the morning.
This was one of the later moments.
My jacket eh?
It's quite a tale.
It was the year of our lord two thousand and four
I’d set sail from the cold quay of Poole.
I had boarded a ship to get off shore
And fled to the sea like a fool.
I got one good look and with anger I shook
While cursing my poor luck.
It was a hobbled old craft and had one life raft
And they called “The Crippled Duck”
It was a hellish old trip
And I worked as a cook.
I paid my way with three meals a day.
Most of which I got from a book.
“How to Serve Man”. At least that was the plan.
I tried to keep it fresh
But the crew did riot and I had to change the diet.
They had got sick of mouldy manflesh.
I got bored one day and went down below
And what was it that I did see?
A fine trenchcoat and slipping it on I did gloat
Crying “This here is the coat for me!”
Then I felt a hand on my back. Across my jaw, I was smack.
I felt this was a little hostile.
I was dragged back above and hit the deck with a shove
So I stood there on trial.
“We have a thief!” the crew did yell.
I was to be to hoisted up on the mast.
The captainman roared “Toss him overboard.”
I had to think of a plan quick fast
I grabbed some broken glass and woe and alas,
I slit the bugger’s throat
I swam for the shore and I don’t sail no more.
And that is how I got my coat.