The Fair Weather Man Poem by David Lewis Paget

The Fair Weather Man



There are times when fate steps in, and then
You never stand a chance,
For your life is cut and tailored to
Some random fortune's dance,
So it was with Esmerelda
Who I'd loved with all my life,
And if fortune had but favoured me
She would have been my wife.

We'd long been courting, on and off
Before the seventh grade,
I had planned our lives minutely
Roads set out, and footpaths paved,
She always seemed to go along
With every scheme I'd planned,
‘Til the one thing I'd not factored in
Appeared, his name was Stan!

He came in a Ferrari like
Some flashy movie star,
In his blazer, hat and silk cravat,
She gazed long at his car,
In a moment then, of weakness
She went with him for a drive,
And returned, my Esmerelda with
His star bright in her eyes.

It was Stan is this, and Stan is that
And Stan, can do no wrong,
She went with him Bungee Jumping,
Took to wearing a sarong,
And while I would cling to steeples, cleaning,
Painting, like King Kong,
He was with her, titillating,
Though I'd told her, it was wrong.

She began to sulk, took off the ring
And flung it in my face,
So I ground it into powder
(I admit, the ring was paste):
But she never did come back to me
Was more than mesmerised
By this flashy interloper who'd
Infiltrated our lives.

Then Stan went parachuting
Jumped from 20,000 feet,
He could land right on a nickel
In the middle of a street,
(So he said) , but no-one questioned,
Esmerelda less than most,
He was more than her Prince Charming,
He'd become the perfect host.

I should have known the cause was lost,
I should have dried my eyes,
When folk spoke of their wedding
It still caught me by surprise,
They'd planned it for St. Albans
In that ancient little church,
With the tallest, sharpest steeple
In the county, and that hurt.

Their choice was quite ironic
I had been aloft that spire,
To clean a hundred years of grime
A steeple will acquire,
I'd cleaned up to the pinnacle,
Down to the bell-house tower,
And felt that little church was mine,
My mood was more than dour!

But Stan was not content to walk
The aisle, to greet his bride,
He planned to parachute on down
To the courtyard, just outside,
Where Esmerelda, dressed in white
Would gaze up at the skies,
To watch him come from up above
The lovelight in her eyes.

The day was wet and blustery,
The weathercock spun round,
The tiny plane flew overhead
Stan leapt toward the ground,
He looped, side-slipped, and swooped and turned
Put on a great display,
The daring groom would seem to zoom
From heaven, to earth's soft clay.

The guests stood in the courtyard, raised
Their eyes up to the sky,
As Stan approached, I saw the tears
In Esmerelda's eye,
But then a sudden, wayward gust
Spun Stan too far around,
And skewered him on the steeple
Fifty yards above the ground.

I hesitate, but mention now
How blood flew from his mouth,
Shot over Esmy's wedding dress
Its stream still flowing south,
He draped there like an old rag doll
He twitched, and kicked, and hung,
I think they called the wedding off
Before the day was done.

They turned to me, the Steeplejack,
And said, ‘Well, it's like this,
We'll need to get the steeple cleaned,
Unskewer the detritus…'
I looked the Pastor in the eye
And said, ‘From where I stand,
He's yours and Esmerelda's now,
Your own Fair Weather Man! '

11 December 2012

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David Lewis Paget

David Lewis Paget

Nottingham, England/live in Australia
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