The Grand Irrational

Where are all the slightly portly
middle-aged superheroes?
They've been cleared to take flight
from behind their sedentary desks;
from within their dingy sheds.

See them taking to the runway,
so polite and eager to please,
their cardigans unbuttoned
and flapping in the breeze.

Rockin' jumbo cords and phat cravats,
singing, in broken baritones,
the marching song
of the middle-aged battalions:
I feel the need...
the need for tweed!

Some wise-asses mutter
that they're worth a flutter
in the steeplechase
of the human race
that they call
the Grand Irrational.
They won't fall at the fence
of sturdy common sense.

I have applied to join
this illustrious group,
this cat-stroking, non-smoking,
holding-doors-open troupe.
They are so healthy and restrained
that they might just live forever.
In these times of numbskulls and lamebrains,
we need them more than ever.

B.R. 17/05/2018




The Numskulls, little people who lived inside a man and operated the various parts of his head, first appeared in The Beezer in 1962, drawn by Malcolm Judge.