Right ho Jeeves!
“Right ho, Jeeves!”
I say enthusiastically to a friend,
Who is the designated lockdown driver
For today’s journey through the world’s end.
I chide him, jokingly
And refresh his memory of how he called me “Selva”
When it had been my turn in the driver’s seat.
‘Yes, because that’s a driver’s name!”
He protests; to which I blithely respond,
“Jeeves’ always made excellent butlers
And valets.”
He scoffs, telling me that my Shakespearean references
Would’ve been better suited for the Victorian age
And I let him get on with it,
Without highlighting the error of his ways.
On our ride back, my mind wanders;
To the accidents of births and name.
Both of which can seemingly guarantee you,
Either irrelevance or fame.
I’m grateful that mine reveals little
Of my historical, social or economic status.
Or perhaps it does
And I’m just out of practice.
I wonder if some people like the predetermination,
That comes with a name.
And I accept, with hesitation
That we aren’t, after all, made the same.
The ride comes to an end,
As my mind thins the herd.
I wish my friend off, with another, “Right ho, Jeeves!”
And he flips me the bird.
_________________________________________________________
Written based on the title of the book, “Right Ho! Jeeves” By P.G. Wodehouse
