So, there it is in writing on my name badge from yesterday's official opening of the refurbished Lynx House, Poetry Winner.Mounted on a cushion of burgundy, an accolade to show for all the 40-odd years it took to become an overnight sensation. Something to make my despairing parents proud of me.
I shouldn't mock. It's not the worst poem I've ever written and now, realizing that Nottingham and Gloucester are also ten-letter words, I've added in two prequels to make a poem that may or may not be called Autobiography. Although I have used that title before, I think it's as much of that dire and dreadful tale of underachievement as will ever be written and more, as it implies, than anybody will want to read.
