December
2006
Mr Fisher’s Eyes
The lady craved the dwarf’s estate,
And now she squawks her feathered fate,
The battery hens that can relate
Have served what sits on Mr Fisher’s plate
Oh, Mr Fisher,
I wish a bolt
Of lightning
For your eyes
Mr Fisher went to school
When he was young, as most folks do,
He learnt about the golden rule,
And he found it funny that life can be so cruel;
Dragged behind Old Henry’s Ford,
Phil found it easy to ignore
That stagnant feeling that aches and bores,
And bleeding hard, Phil gladly praised the Lord;
Dog eat dog and cat eat salmon,
Man eat sand in a sandy famine,
I’m in love with a crazy woman,
She’s inside out, she can see when a train’s not coming;
Mr Fisher taught Jane a dance,
He said it’s a popular dance in France,
On a surgeon’s table without her pants,
Mr Fisher made his money and Jane made sweet romance;
Laissez-faire and let it rot,
Shooting is a kick that hits that spot,
Human nature is the picking of snot,
I’m a cherub, I’m celestial in a way that Mr Fisher is not;
George drinks whisky to unwind,
He chews the bottle down to the rind,
Mr Fisher treats him unkind,
Goodnight, Mr Fisher, I’m afraid I fear your mind.
4 Responses to “Mr Fisher’s Eyes”
I can’t promise a Paul, but I can more or less guarantee a guitar (contradict soon, Adam, or you’re officially obliged) and a bodhran. Seemingly you very much like this poem, yuh shite. And Heaven forbid there should be too many characters, Tom. Love you. And one pint?
I kept thinking of Jeremy Fisher.
It’s a ballad all right, like something out of “the old weird America” (was that Greil Marcus?) - more British, though, more literate, I suppose, and less earthy.
I really like the “Dog eat dog” verse - like a cross between Dylan and Harry Belafonte.
I very much like this poem, and the things I do not like about it Jack already knows. I get confused by too many characters. It’s a lovely angry bastard of a ballad. If I buy you a pint will you bring Guitar and perhaps a Paul and Play this in Glasgow?