(Response to ‘Let Me Die A Youngman’s Death’ by Roger McGough)

Let me be born a greatman’s birth.
This embryo’s worth so much more
Than a labour in hospital faint father birth.

Not a standard caesarean quite of the norm birth
But a bust through the womb with explosives birth
A race round the ward in a monster truck birth
An impromptu Hamlet soliloquy birth.

Not an Eastbourne or Chiswick or Bournemouth born
But a Rio De Ja Robert De Niro born
Found in a space escape pod born
Found by the door in a wicker yacht born
No omelette blancmange or camomile born
But a port cheese and crack-cocaine kind of born.
That kind of born.

No cradle and shepherds and shoddy inn born
No ‘when are the wise men arriving?’ born
But a piss in the face of King Herod born
An antichrist courting the nearest nurse born
A dose on the coast with Saint Peter at dawn born.

No silver trimmed rattle or chardonnay crate gift
But a bazooka and basilisk penny-farthing and sphinx
An ICBM and a truckload of Lynx
Pam Anderson shotgun and pet kraken gift.
A exclusive elusive galactic rift gift.
A key to the armchair of God kind of gift.

Not a reference in the per anum review kind of mention
Not a certificate smudge in detention mention
But I’ll wake at the wake of the millions who’ll die
When the mountains collide and the earthquakes
Shake to make mark of my coming mention.
A mistaken for Rapture or Ragnarok mention.

No twins or quintuplets, no not on my own born
But a VIP roll out the red carpet born.
No sisters distilling, no brothers besmirching.
A this town’s big enough for the one of me born.