Thinking of Bruno Pym

Thinking of poor Bruno Pym who lost his shoe in tragic circumstances and inspired this piece of doggerel.

By George Eraclides in one of ‘his moods’. Sept 3, 2008


I often think of Bruno Pym

And wonder what became of him;

His bloated form no longer seen

Asleep upon the village green.


Why did this heap of lard abscond

The folks still ask in their despond;

A search was made across the land,

Even Bruno’s mail was scanned.


In fields they shouted, voices strained,

Called in tenor, bass even as it rained;

But all they found was flattened grass

And the search reached its sad impasse.


Some recalled seeing soaring lights

That buzzed around for many nights;

Do grassy circles strangely gouged,

Mean aliens took our potato couch?


But, if it be that Pym is cosmic bound,

How come in the pig-trough his shoe was found?


By many, our village fare is rightly prized,

But from ham and pork, I say, turn aside!