He was a mountain troll

He was a mountain troll

And when he stepped into the pub

The light from the window

Was obscured

What had previously been

A noisily jovial room

Blinked out.

Six foot seven and a half

Would be my guess

As solidly built as a brick outhouse

As broad as a Thames barge

He rolled up alongside

“Do you remember me?”

His voice rumbled

Like an old steam train

From the time before Beecham

“No” I mumbled, tongue-tied

“I can’t say that I do”

He seemed to know who I was

“Should I?”

“You once tried to throttle me

‘Cause I beat up your brother.”

Oh, mother, I thought

I remember.

But said, instead

“I don’t suppose I could do it now though,

Could I.”

I thought he would swipe me

With his shovel of a hand

But he shook his head

“No, I don’t suppose you could.”

And I took a breath

As he continued

“I probably deserved it back then,

So for old time’s sake

And to make it right by your

Soft little brother,

Who was a bit of a shite

If I remember right,

I’ll buy you a pint.”

Surprised by his warmth

I agreed,

My personal safety guaranteed

At least for the time, it would take

To sink one or two

Or even a few,

If I could remain standing

And things were kept sweet.