Just a Synechdoche
One evening in the gloaming with the hour approaching late
I heard a sound, just ask my cat, he may corroborate.
I quickly went alfresco, thought I'd better take a look
A crowd of farmers gathered round to watch a donnybrook.
One farmer in pyjamas with a rubicund complexion,
Officious and unlaundered too, I thought, on close inspection,
Screamed words so execrable it made me hang my head
"Bugger off," I answered him, "You nasty slugabed"
He reddened more, demanding where I heard this sobriquet
“My bailiwick is language,” I began to say,
“I was just applying the accordant synecdoche;
Euphonious it was, especially if it gets your goat!”
The audience went bananas, with plaudit long and loud,
With swift volte-face I raised my hands to milk the cheering crowd
I bowed and swept an arm down low before a genuflect
My hubris was complete; I hadn’t known what to expect.
The ruddy man lunged forward to waylay me from behind
With fists clenched tight in anger and malfeasance on his mind
I heard “man on!” cried loudly by a sports aficionado
I spun around and held aloft my otiose red cardo!
My skill in diplomacy is something I misprise
So by some legerdemain I poked him in the eyes
He was implacable, impossible and vicious
And hence my disappearance was somewhat expeditious
My exile, I fear is from my own circumlocution
My life, although plenary has brought its retribution
My quandary as I hide out in a littoral bivouac
To change my life and limn a while or simply to head back