Me and my Aussie Dacks
If only Dad had passed down to me
his shapely legs, good for running
and tennis, instead of what I got.
Mum's ‘slim limbs’ suited her,
not me, puffing behind my muscled
peer group on their pushbikes.
After his death, my sister said:
you know what he’d call you
behind your back? - pukeko legs.
The New Zealand swamp hen!
Thanks, Dad. They’ve served me
longer than your dicky heart let yours.
I was once dropped from a School
Cadet drill squad - my shape would spoil
their khaki uniform Anzac strength.
Now I learn the term ‘spindle-
shanks’, but won’t teach my kin
to use it in my hearing.
For years I wouldn’t wear shorts -
the only long-pants guy at the beach!
Jeans I thought too clinging.
Thighs, knees, calves, ankles - none
suited, though I liked my feet.
I joined a gym too late for any
muscle-building - and the gear,
tracky-dacks, daggy in the extreme,
helped put me off going back.
Now I step out first thing each day
to let the dogs relieve themselves,
myself relieved to show the empty
street my shanks - saggy pajama-
pants under my rain-jacket, sad
at my thighs as I return upstairs.
Stephen Spender, who was tall, said
the best poets were the short guys.
I think continually of those
who are truly of medium size.
On Jun 17, 2015, at 5:47, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Ah, you might yet, Jill. It's not really a problem anyway. Maybe I just buy big dacks.
>
> Bill
>
>> On 17 Jun 2015, at 10:36 pm, Jill Jones <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>
>> thanks, Bill, that I had such problems.
>>
>>
>>> On 17/06/2015, at 8:03 AM, Bill Wootton wrote:
>>>
>>> Spindle shanks
>>>
>>> You know you're getting spindly
>>> when you slip first your foot
>>> then your whole leg
>>> into your dacks
>>> and hit no
>>> cloth
>>>
>>> bw
>>
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