THE REGATTA

 

It’s early July and the rain keeps on coming,

My dress is all sodden and my make-up is running.

With mascara streaks dripping down my face,

I don’t give a damn about watching a race.

Emblazered old men and big rowing blokes

Are quaffing their Pimms and cheering the boats

Racing in two’s down Henley course;

Before very long those men will be hoarse.

The Stewards’ Enclosure is now overflowing

And nobody knows if they’re coming or going;

Back-slapping and greetings, old friendships renewed,

And hands shaken in grips as though they were glued.

Forgive me, dear Reader, if this sounds rude

But with race after race, the programme’s too long,

Although nobody cares in this elegant throng.

As a wifely appendage I feel over-awed

But, wet through to the skin, I’m decidedly bored.

So when next year comes, I hope it won’t matter

If I stay well away and miss the Regatta.

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David J. King (May 2015)