Ashford, Middlesex, UK.

How I became a Cloudspotter.

I was pedalling my bicycle along a country lane,
Quite oblivious to the sky above my head,
When a shout went up, “That cloud, sir! That cloud, sir! Look up there!”
And I brought my cycle to a stop quite dead.
Alas, I had forgotten ancient lessons learned at school,
Newton’s laws about inertia ‘mongst the pile.
And continuing on my journey whilst my bicycle stood still,
I sailed through empty air with silly smile.
Descending to the tarmac in an exponential arc,
Like a diagram from some artillery book,
I landed with a bump upon the unforgiving turf,
But thought that while I’m here, I’l take a look.
But oh, the giddy whirling that did greet my star-filled eyes,
Everything went round and round my aching head.
And whilst recalling visions from my dim and feckless youth,
I was placed upon an ambulance’s bed.
Upon discharge from hospital, I went back to the scene,
Of this mishap caused by someone’s hasty fuss,
And looking at the sky to see what all the noise was for,
I was greeted by a flock of Cumul-us. ‘
Twas wondrous to behold this glorious vision of a cloud,
As it sailed across the heavenly expanse,
But looking up like this gave me a right pain in the neck,
So I lay amongst the beetles and the ants.
Alas, I had not reckoned on the man who gave the shout,
Returning to the scene as I had done.
He thought I was a speed bump as he drew up in his car,
A vehicle which must have weighed a ton.
So the ambulance was called for once again to pick me up,
And rush me to the local A & E,
Where, ‘pon my due arrival, they worked hard to stitch me up,
And repair my painful neck and injured knee.
They warned me of the perils of gazing up into the sky,
(Quite needlessly, I thought, but there we are).
And they sent me home with collar surgical upon my neck,
So my head was held in perpendicular.
At least that was the theory, but their plan had come unstuck,
For you see, they had not read the bulletin,
That was issued at the hospital on my obesity,
They had not reckoned on my double chin.
With my chins upon the collar surgical that I now wear,
My line of sight is now on upward track,
Ideal, I think, for spotting clouds without strain to the neck,
And since wearing it I never have looked back.
So perfectly inclined I am to view the cloudy scene,
And completely unable to see the ground,
Well, if I’d been a botanist I’d really be depressed,
But with spotting clouds my joy may now abound.

© Dr Wm. R. Cooper.