Tall Tails

A Canterbury Tale-ish type (re the rather naughty ‘Wife of Bath’) of absurdist ill-repute, cunningly disguised as a Herculean drama

Spetsnatz = Russian special forces

A nervous man sidled up to me, cig in hand, hand in hair, hiding his face from the human race
As I watched a gushing fountain in Trafalgar square
Camouflage patterned rucksack stuck in the past on my back
In front of the great phallic statue of Nelson
Though to be fair
He was probably very well hung to have such a column
More than me surely, as I have no personal monument
Dedicated to any attribute of mine, on any allotment, or scrubland
No bollard, miniature lighthouse, or traffic cone
But in my defence a few have mentioned balls
(as in “what the fock, trying to get shot?”)
Though I never won any of my wars
Not for want of tempting fate (somewhat overrated) and I did once wrestle naked
With an ex-Spetsnatz soldier, holding only shoulders
Who grappled with me within the confines of the Budapest Russian Embassy
We did start with towels wrapped around waists, considering the circumstance rather chaste
These soon dropped of their own accord, and I would have thus mentioned two swashbuckling broadswords
I fear though witnesses might beg to differ, two at last count, as we fought and parts bounced
Two gladiators at a Greek colosseum were we, in front of…