Colin F. Jones

TONE

Handicapped by knee bourn pain,
Our old mate Tone is back again,
Square eyed and hopelessly forlorn,
He’s wishing he had not been born.
Yet when you call him he responds,
Casts off his dreams of sexy blonds,
And staggers to the mast once more,
To end up crashing to the floor.
Yet wait!! He lurches, rolls his eyes,
Pricks up his ears to hear our cries,
And though, Oh God! It hurts like Hell,
And his kneecap hurts him as well,
He makes it to his feet at last,
And reaches out to grab the mast.