(for Dad, and his new joint)
O, give me the firesides
of farting old fuckers, whose
crumpet kicks off
with cocoa and jam.
Eighty? He’s mine!
I’ll slot in just fine — take me home.
The Doric for socks?
I don’t give a toss, but I see
that they’re thick, and stuffed
into boots, which are scarily fuzzy
with Nik Wax. So who
is this codger who climbed
Cotopaxi, and is pictured with people
strung out on the Picos?
This rampant old grandpa swings
monkey ring things, high
Tarzans the lengths at the baths.
So soon, he’ll be stripping
off mockings of surgical stockings,
he’s ditching his crutches,
he’s clipping on crampons —
The Hipster was first published in Seagate III (ed. Andy Jackson, Discovery Press, 2016).
Beth explains that this poem was written about her Dad (86) as he approached his 80th birthday … and a hip replacement. She adds that, despite having subsequently broken his hip and femur, hillwalking in the Canaries, he probably walks more each day than most of his neighbours!
Beth McDonough studied Silversmithing at Glasgow School of Art. After an M Litt at Dundee University, she was Writer in Residence at Dundee Contemporary Arts. Her work connects strongly with place, particularly to the Tay, where she swims year-round. Her poetry is published in Gutter, Stand, Magma and elsewhere. In Handfast (with Ruth Aylett) she explored experiences of autism, as Ruth examined dementia. Beth’s solo pamphlet, Lamping for pickled fish, is published by 4Word.
One thought on “A Poem by Beth McDonough”
Sharon, Thank you for posting.
I’ve been having email hassles, so if you alerted me by email, I wasn’t being rude in not replying!
I hope you and your loved ones are very well… Beth x