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.


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