No Ordinary Son
(sonnet for Phil Rhodes)
It’s not all good Phil, for one,
I still abhor sopranos,
(unless they’re from New Jersey) –
let the bassists comfort them.
The peacock, above the stage,
so similar to you, a baritone,
feet apart, tails, chest out,
arms open, embracing the audience.
Stranger, you’ve learnt in suffering
what you teach in song – “hine e hine. . . “
like the first dip under a breaker,
the spine tingles up here in Row A, Seat 33.
Phil, as Tuwhare said (in a different way),
you’re no ordinary son.