The Handicap
I think I should suit, for I’ve knowledge minute
Of all tickets, time-tables, and trains;
All speedings and slowings and comings and goings
Are deeply impressed on my brains.
I know just how long the express to Geelong
Stops outside certain stations; and where
All the footwarmers go when the winter winds blow.
So I think I am qualified there.
I can find you a porter, or see that your daughter
Leaves safely for Sydney. My list
Of refreshment-room fare is exclusive and rare
I can tell you what trains you have missed.
I can find little Willie, or mind little Millie
While Mother, with no time to spare,
Goes to buy her a bun. I can tell you what won
All the races. I’m competent there.
I have knowledge unique of what days in the week
Trains stop at your station - or not.
I can tell ('Sat. excepted’) what trains are connected
With which. I am au fait with the lot.
On 'Mon. only’ or ‘Tues.’ I have accurate views.
I can tell you on ‘Suns.’ when and where
You can gather mushrooms or the gold wattle blooms;
So I feel I am competent there.
And, with all this assortment of facts, my deportment,
Impressive, yet friendly, is right.
At my resonant voice all the ladies rejoice;
And fools flock to me, dribbling delight.
My garments I wear with an air debonair;
But one handicap stands in my way:
Tho’ in all else I’m ‘It,’ those who know me admit
That I look simply awful in grey.
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