THE GAMBLING MAN

In Williamstown of great renown,

To those of us in Melbourne town,
There lived a man so worldly wise
He always won the Grand Prix ‘prize’.

His gambling ran the family down,

For even though the stakes he won,
He drank them all in one great gulp
With ne’er a thought to give some help
To those who treasured him the most.

But this Grand Prix, our Fred was lost,

When all and sundry he did toast:
In future he would never boast
A winning streak of luck so grand
That all thought Fred a magic hand,
A visionary so unique
That nought could stop this lucky streak.

Yet how did Fred, our wise man, know

How best to place his bet just so?

Though racing cars he did abhor,

And horses did he put before
All creatures other than his dog,
While wife ran second place to mog,
A tradesman was our famous Fred,
Mechanic skilled, and in his shed
Had found the way to stop a car
Before it could go very far.

He would ensure that just one went

To finish line, while others spent
Time on the track, yet then did crash,
So he could pocket all the stash.

While simple is this answer true,

Still to this day he’ll ever rue
The time he listened to his wife,
Who landed him in frightful strife,
For she was sick and tired of life
And felt it time to hone the knife
To cut Fred’s gambling days quite short.

‘I’ll finish him for good,’ she thought,

And from the butcher’s shop she bought
A piece of steak, and then some Port
From bottle shop just near at hand.

‘I’ll get him drunk then make a stand,’

Said wife and mother of his kids,
All grown up now and on the skids.

Yes, Fate did deal a bitter blow

When wife found out that she did know
That if he drank before the race
Then Fred would face complete disgrace.

This time, when wife she did suggest

A glass or two of Port, the best,
Fred failed to listen to his heart
And drank too much right from the start.

So when he tampered with the cars

They all became much better stars
At racing down the Grand Prix track:
Not one was helped to fall right back.

When Fred saw that his luck had failed,

He turned to run, but he was nailed
By all the mates he’d told grand tales,
Who’d lost their bets, drunk many ales.

Now Fred, our winner, black and blue,

To friends and family is true.
And so our tale has reached the end ~
Don’t drive your spouse around the bend!

Inge Meldgaard
2011